THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 


THE  COLLECTION  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINIANA 

i:ndo>x'fd  by 

JOHN  SPRUNT  HILL 

CLASS  OF  18  89 


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ASSOCIATION. 


6t 


Shelf. 


1.  You  can  k.ep  this  book  two  weeks.  If  not  returned  in  three, 
a  tine  of  TWO  CENTS  will  be  imposed  for  EACH  DAY  there- 
after. 

2.  You   are   responsible   for  this   book  for  anything  beyond  reason- 

able  wear. 


T.  B.  PETEPiSON  &  BROTHERS; 

No.  306  Chestnut  Street,  Philadelphia, 

Have  in  Press,  and  will  issue  at  once,  an  entire  new,  com- 
plete, and  uniform  edition  of  all  the  celebrated  Novels,  (which 
have  been  out  of  print  for  years),  written  by  the  late 

MRS.  OAEOLIKE   LEE   HENTZ. 

The  whole  of  the  novels  and  stories  of  Mrs.  Caroline  Leb 
Hentz  will  be  issued  complete  in  twelve  large  duodecimo  vol- 
umes. Two  volumes  will  be  issued  each  month,  until  the  se- 
ries is  complete,  one  volume  on  the  first,  and  another  on  the  fifteenth 
of  the  month.  They  will  be  printed  on  the  finest  paper,  and  bound 
in  the  most  beautiful  style,  in  fine  Morocco  cloth,  with  a  new 
full  gilt  back,  uniform  with  this  edition  of  '*  Linda ;  or.  The 
Young  Pilot  of  the  Belle  Creole,"  and  sold  at  the  low  price  of 
$1.75  each,  in  Morocco  cloth  ;  or  in  paper  cover,  at  $1.50  each. 

The  Novels  of  Mrs.  Caroline  Lee  Hentz  will  be  found,  on  pe- 
rusal by  all,  to  be  the  most  exciting  and  popular  works  that 
have  ever  emanated  from  the  American  press.  They  are  written 
in  a  charming  style,  and  will  elicit  through  all  a  thrill  of  deep 
and  exquisite  pleasure.  They  are  works  which  the  oldest  and 
the  youngest  may  alike  read  with  pleasure  and  profit.  They 
abound  with  the  most  beautiful  scenic  descriptions,  and  display 
an  intimate  acquaintance  with  all  phases  of  human  character — 
all  the  characters  being  exceedingly  well  drawn.  They  are  de- 
lightful books,  full  of  incident,  oftentimes  bold  and  startling, 
and  they  describe  the  warm  feelings  of  the  Southerner  in  glow- 
ing colors.  Indeed,  all  of  Mrs.  Hentz's  stories  aptly  describe 
Southern  life,  and  are  highly  moral  in  their  application.  In 
this  field  Mrs.  Hentz  wields  a  keen  sickle,  and  harvests  a  rich 
and  abundant  crop.  They  will  be  found,  in  plot,  incident,  and 
management,  to  be  superior  to  any  other  novels  ever  issued. 
In  the  whole  range  of  elegant  moral  fiction,  there  cannot  be 
found  anything  of  more  inestimable  value,  or  superior  to  the 
ell  arming  works  of  Mrs.  Caroline  Lee  Hentz,  and  they  are  all 
gems  that  will  well  repay  a  careful  perusal.  The  Publishers 
feel  assured  that  this  series  of  Novels,  by  Mrs.  Caroline  Lee 
Hentz,  will  give  entire  satisfaction  to  the  whole  reading  com- 
munity ;  that  they  will  encourage  good  taste  and  good  morals, 

(1) 


2  WRITINGS   OF  MRS.   CAROLINE   LEE   HENTZ. 

and  while  away  many  leisure  hours  with  great  pleasure  and 
prolit,  and  that  they  will  also  be  recommended  to  others  by  all 
that  peruse  them. 

The  first  volume  was  issued  on  November  1st,  1869,  and  was 
LINDA;  OR,  THE  YOUNG  PILOT  OF  THE  BELLE  CREOLE. 

The  first  volume,  "Limda,"  contains  a  full  and  complete 
Biography  of  the  late  Mrs.  Caroline  Lee  Hentz,  which  has  never 
before  been  published. 

The  second  volume  will  be  issued  on  November  15th,  1869, 
and  it  will  be 

ROBERT  GRAHAM.    A   Sequel    to   "Linda;   or,  The  Young  Pilot 

of  the  Belle  Creole." 

These  will  be  followed,  one  on  the  Jirsf,  ana  one  on  the  ffteenth  of 
each  month,  by 

ERNEST  LINWOOD ;  or,  The  Inner  Life  of  the  Author. 

THE  PLANTER'S  NORTHERN  BRIDE;  or,  Scenes  in  Mrs.  Hentz's 

Childhood. 
MARCUS  WARLAND ;  or.  The  Long  Moss  Spring. 
HELEN  AND  ARTHUR;  or,  Miss  Thusa's  Spinning- Wheel. 
COURTSHIP    AND    MARRIAGE;    or.    The    Joys    and  Sorrows  of 

American  Life. 
EOLINE;  or,  MAGNOLIA  VALE;   Or,  The  Heiress  of  Glenmore. 
EENA;  or,  THE  SNOW  BIRD.     A  Tale  of  Real  Life. 
THE  LOST  DAUGHTER ;  and  other  Stories  of  the  Heart. 
THE  BANISHED  SON  ;  and  other  Stories  of  the  Heart. 
LOVE  AFTER  MARRIAGE ;  and  other  Stories  of  the  Heart. 

This  series  will  no  doubt  prove  to  be  the  most  popular  series 
of  Novels  ever  issued  in  this  country,  as  they  are  written  by  the 
most  popular  Female  Novelist  that  ever  lived. 

Address  all  orders,  at  once,  to  receive  immediate  attention, 
for  all  or  any  of  the  above  books,  to 

T.  B.  PETERSON   &  BROTHERS, 

Publishers,  No.  306  Cliestiint  Street,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 

t^  Above  Books  will  he  for  sale  hy  all  BookscWrs,  or  copies  of  any 
or  nil  of  thm  will  he  scut  post-paid  to  any  one,  to  any  place,  on  receipt 
of  their  price  by  the  publishers. 


LINDA; 

OR,  THE 

YOUKG  PEOT   OF  THE  BELLE  CREOLE. 

BY 

MRS.  CAROLmE  LEE  HENTZ. 

AUTHOR  OP   "ROBERT    GRAHAM;  A    SEQUEL   TO    LINDA,"   "  RENA  ;   OR,    THE    SNOW  BIRD," 

"COURTSHIP    AND     MARRIAGE;     OR,    THE    JOYS    AND     SORROWS   OF   AMERICAN   LIFE," 

"  THE   PLANTER'S  NORTHERN   BRIDE ;   OR,   SCENES   IN   MRS.  HENTZ'S   CHILDHOOD," 

"  MARCUS   WARLAND ;   OR,   THE   LONG   MOSS   SPRING,"   "  THE  BANISHED  SON," 

"ERNEST      LINWOOD;      OR,      THE      INNER      LIFE      OF     THE     AUTHOR," 

"HELEN   AND    ARTHUR;     OR,   MISS     THUSA'S     SPINNING-WHEEL," 

"EOLINE;    or,  magnolia  VALE,"  "  the   LOST   DAUGHTER," 

"LOVE     AFTER     MARRIAGE,"     ETC.,      ETC.,     ETC. 

WITH  A  BIOGRAPHY  OF  THE  AUTHOR. 


"There  is  a  corafort  in  the  strength  of  love; 
'Twill  make  a  thin^  emlurable^  which  else 
Would  overset  the  braiu,  or  break  the  heart."— 'VyoRDS'VORTH. 

"  I  love  thee,  and  I  feel 
That  on  the  fountain  of  my  heart  a  seal 
Is  set  to  keep  its  waters  pure  and  bright 
For  Theo."  Shelley. 


PHILADELPHIA: 
T.    B.    PETERSON    &    BROTHERS; 

30G     CHESTNUT     STREET. 


Entered  acconllng  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  tlio  ypar  1869,  l)y 

T.  B.  PETEUSON  k  BROTHERS, 

In   the  Clcrk'a   OfBco  of  tlie  District   Court  of  the  United  States,  in  and  for  the 
Eastern   Dintrict  of  PeuutiylvaDia. 


MRS.  CAKOLINE  LEE  IIEXTZ'S  WORKS. 

Each  Work  is  complete  in  one  volume,  12mo. 
LIXDA;     OR,    THE     YOUXG    PILOT    OF    THE    BELLE 
CREOLE. 

ROBERT  GRAHAM.     A  SEQUEL  TO  ''LIXDA:' 

ERXEST  L IX WOOD;    OR,    THE    IXXER    LIFE    OF    THE 
A  UTHOR. 

MARCUS  WARLAXD;  OR,  THE  LOXG  3I0SS  SPRIXG. 

JIELEX  AXD  ARTHUR;    OR,  MISS   THUSA'S  SFIXXIXG- 
WHEEL. 

THE  PLAXTER'S  XORTHERX  BRIDE;    OR,  SCEXES  IX 
MRS.  HEXTZ^S  CHILDHOOD. 

COURTSHIP   AXD    MARRIAGE;    OR,    THE    JOYS    AXD 
SORRO  WS  OF  AMERICAX  LIFE. 

EOLIXE;  OR,  MAGXOLIA   VALE. 

REX  A;  OR,  THE  SXOW  BIRD. 

THE  LOST  DAUGHTER. 

THE  BAXISHED  SON. 

L  0  VE  A  FTER  MARRIA  GE. 

Price  of  each,  $1.75  in  Cloth;  or  $1  50  in  Paper  Cover. 


Above  books  arc  for  sale  by  all  Booksellers.     Copies  of  any  or 
all  of   the  above    books  will  be  sent    to    any  one,  to    any  place 
poituge  pre-paid,  on  receipt  of  their  price  by  the  Tublishers, 
T.  B.   PETEUSON  &  BROTH  EllS, 

JUG    CutiftT.NLr     iJTKlii;-!-,    PlIILADLLl'lHA,    Pa. 


BIOGRAPHY 


OP 


MRS.    CAROLINE   LEE    HENTZ. 


There  are  few,  among  the  many  beautiful  villages 
of  New  England,  more  romantic  than  that  of  Lancas- 
ter, Mass.,  where,  at  the  breaking  out  of  the  War  of 
1812,  dwelt  the  family  of  the  late  Col.  John  Whiting. 
Himself  a  man  of  high  mental  cultivation  and  great 
literary  tastes,  and  described  as  '^  of  a  fine  military 
figure  and  commanding  height" — his  children  in- 
herited both  his  personal  and  mental  attractions ;  but 
none  more  largely  than  his  youngest  child,  Caroline 
Lee  Whiting^  the  subject  of  this  sketch.  Even  at  this 
time,  a  girl  of  ten  or  eleven  years,  she  was  at  once 
distinguished  among  her  school-mates  by  the  remark- 
able genius  she  already  displayed,  and  endeared  to 
them  by  her  winning  manners,  sweet  disposition,  and 
warmth  of  heart.  Her  compositions,  sparkling  with 
fancy,  glowing  with  feeling,  and  mature  in  language, 
were  thus  early  the  admiration  of  her  companions  and 
the  pride  of  the  home  circle ;  and  not  few  were  the 
auguries  of  the  future  novelist. 

But   the   summons  which  roused  the  country  to 

III 


IV    BIOGRAPHY  OF  MRS.  CAROLINE  LEE  HEXTZ. 

arms,  and  tlie  long  struggle  wliicli  followed,  added 
another  and  an  important  element  to  the  influences 
which  moulded  her  opening  character.  Col.  Whiting 
had  been  dead  nearly  two  years :  but  his  eldest  son, 
Henry,  had  for  four  years  followed  in  his  footsteps ;  and 
now  his  younger  brothers  entered  upon  the  profession 
of  their  father.  Too  far  removed  from  the  scenes  of 
war,  and  spared  a  personal  cause  of  mourning,  their 
sister  realized  little  of  its  darker  side:  while  a  per- 
sonal interest  made  its  history  an  exciting  reality  to 
all  the  family  of  the  absent  soldiers.  The  events, 
therefore,  which  proved  the  sons  worthy  to  tread  in 
their  father's  steps,*  gave  to  the  character  of  Caroline 

*  The  military  record  of  this  family  is  as  remarkable  in  itself,  as 
it  is  honorable  to  them.  The  following  are  the  data  of  the  "War 
Department. 

John  Whiting,  Commissioned  Lieut.  Col.  4th  Regt.  U.  S.  Infantry, 
July  8th,  1808  ;  Adjutant  and  Inspector  of  the  Army,  July  17th, 
1809 ;  Colonel  5th  Regiment  Infantry,  Dec.  31st,  1809.  Died, 
Washington,  D.  C,  Sept.  3d,  1810. 

Henry  Whiting,  (son  of  the  latter),  appointed  Cornet  Light  Dra- 
goons, Oct.  20th,  1808;  2d  Lieut.,  Sept.,  1809;  1st  Lieut.,  Aug., 
1811;  Aid-de-Camp  to  1st  Brig.  Gen.  Boyd,  and  distinguished  in 
the  capture  of  Fort  George,  U.  C,  May  27th,  1813  :  Capt.  4th  Regt. 
of  Rifles,  March,  1814;  (which  he  declined)  ;  Brevet  Captain,  "for 
meritorious  services,"  March  l7th,  1814;  retained  (at  the  reduction 
of  the  Army),  May,  1815,  in  5th  Regt.  Infantry;  Ald-de-Camp  to 
Maj.  Gen.  Macomb,  May,  1815;  Capt.,  March,  1817;  retained  as 
Captain  1st  Regt.  Artillery,  May,  1821;  Brevet  Major,  "for  ten 
years  faithful  service,"  March  I7th,  1824;  Brevet  Lieut.  Col.,  "for 
faithful  and  meritorious  service,"  June  30th,  1834  ;  Quarter  Master, 
with  rank  of  Major,  Feb.  23d,  1835;  Dcp.  Quarter-Master  General, 
with  rank  of  Lieut.    Col.,  July   7th,   183S  ;  Ass't.  Quarter-Master 


BIOGRAPHY  OF  MRS.  CAROLINE  LEE  HENTZ.    V 

the  tone  and  strong  patriotism  whicli  have  since  been 
so  characteristic  of  her  writings.  The  impressions 
also  made  upon  her  by  the  romantic  beauty  of  the 
scenery  around  her  native  place,  were  no  less  vivid 
and  lasting.  A  spirit  originally  highly  aesthetic  was 
developed  with  every  ramble  in  the  woods,  and  every 
hour  spent  in  musing  and  building  airy  castles  by  the 
murmuring  stream.  Love  of  the  beauty  in  nature 
became  enthusiasm ;  the  flowers,  which  smiled  at  her 
approach,  and  the  birds,  whose  song  welcomed  her, 
when  she  threw  herself  upon  the  mossy  roots  of  an 

General,  with  rank  of  Colonel,  April  21st,  1846  ;  joined  Gen.  Tay- 
lor's Command  in  Mexico,  as  Acting  Quarter-Master  General,  July 
6th,  1846  ;  Brevet  Brig.  Gen'l.,  "  for  gallant  and  meritorious  con- 
duct in  the  battle  of  Buena  Vista,"  Feb.  23d,  1847.  Died  in  St. 
Louis,  Sept.  16th,  1857. 

Tobias  Whiting^  (son  of  Col.  John  Whiting),  commissioned  2d 
Lieut.  1st  Reg't.  Artillery,  Feb.  10th,  1812  ;  1st  Lieut.,  June,  1813 ; 
Aid-de-Camp  to  Brig.  Gen.  Chandler,  1814;  retained  (at  the  reduc- 
tion of  the  Army)  May,  1815,  in  the  Artillery ;  Captain,  Sept.,  1819  ; 
Instructor  of  Artillery,  Military  Academy,  West  Point,  Aug.  1820 
to  1821;  Brevet  Major  "for  ten  years  faithful  service,"  Sept.  10th, 
1829.     Died  at  Lancaster,  Mass.,  May  16th,  1842. 

Levi  Whiting^  (son  of  Col.  John  Whiting),  commissioned  2d  Lieut. 
Artillery,  Feb.  ICth,  1812  ;  1st  Lieut.,  June,  1814;  retained  (at  the 
reduction  of  the  Army),  May,  1815,  in  the  Artillery  ;  Captain  4th 
Reg.  Artillery,  May  21st,  1822  ;  Brevet  Major,  "  for  ten  years  faith- 
ful service,"  May  21st,  1832  ;  Major  1st  Reg.  Artillery,  March  19th, 
1842  ;  Lieut.  Col.  1st  Reg.  Artillery,  April  1st,  1850.  Died  at  Nau- 
gatuck,  Conn.,  Aug.  3d,  1852. 

Henry  M.  Whiting,  (son  of  Gen.  Henry  Whiting),  Cadet,  Sept., 
1838^  2d  Lieut.  4th  Reg.  Artillery,  July  1st,  1842  ;  Brevet  1st 
Lieut,  for  gallant  and  meritorious  conduct  in  Battle  of  Buena 
Vista,  Feb.  23d,  1847.     Died  at  Fort  Brown,  Texas,  1853. 


YI        BIOGRAPnY  OF  MRS.  CAROLINE  LEE  HENTZ. 

old  forest  tree,  were  lier  familiars,  and  old  Monadnoc, 
a  peak  wliicli  stands  ruggedly  forth  among  the  range 
of  mountains  on  the  borders  of  New  Hampshire,  was 
to  her  indeed  ''a  kingly  spirit  throned  among  the 
hills." 

In  such  a  heart,  the  influence  of  reliorious  associa- 
tions  take  early  and  deep  root ;  and  the  transcript  of 
that  heart,  as  it  was  at  this  period,  is  evidence  that 
they  had  given  an  elevated  and  a  healthy  tone  to  a 
character  which  otherwise  had  been  in  great  danger 
of  becoming  morbid  and  unfitted  for  domestic  life. 
From  this  early  day  do  we  perceive  the  hallowing 
and  subduing  influence  of  an  unaffected  trust  in  a 
heavenly  Father,  and  an  appreciation  of  the  realities 
of  life,  which  have  ever  preserved  the  true  woman, 
amid  the  attractions  of  a  literary  career. 

On  the  30th  of  September,  1824,  Miss  Whiting  was 
married  to  Mr.  N.  M.  Hentz,  a  French  gentleman  of 
highly  cultivated  mirid  and  varied  talents,  whose 
father,  Nicholas  Hentz,  a  lawyer  of  Metz,  was  a 
member  of  the  French  National  Convention,  and 
whose  own  devotion  to  the  natural  sciences,  particu- 
larly to  that  of  Entomology,  is  well  known  in  that 
department.  He  was  at  this  time  associated  with 
Mr.  Bancroft,  the  historian,  in  conducting  a  Semi- 
nary at  Round  Hill,  Northampton.  In  this  place 
they  resided  nearly  two  years,  when  Mr.  Hentz, 
having  been  elected  to  the  post  of  Professor  of  Belles 
Lettres  and  Modern  Languages  in  Chapel  Hill  Col- 
lege, N.  C,  they  removed  to  the  South,  and  resided 


BIOGRAPHY  OF  MRS.  CAROLINE  LEE  HENTZ.      VII 

for  years  in  the  congenial  atmosphere  that  surrounded 
this  seat  of  learning. 

In  this,  their  southern  home,  was  added  to  Mrs. 
Hentz,  the  sacred  trust  of  a  Mother ;  and  the  claims 
of  dependent  infancy  and  childhood,  almost  entirely 
and  of  necessity  debarred  attention  to  those  of  liter- 
ature. 

In  the  year  1830,  Mr.  Hentz  was  induced  by  some 
gentlemen,  who  wished  to  establish  a  Select  Seminary 
under  his  superintendence  and  that  of  Mrs.  Hentz 
conjointly,  to  remove  to  Covington,  Kentucky,  from 
whence,  the  second  year  after,  they  crossed  the  river 
and  took  charge  of  a  similar  institution  in  Cincinnati. 

Heretofore  Mrs.  Hentz's  literary  efforts  h^  been 
confined  to  a  limited  field :  in  fact,  with  the  exception 
of  an  occasional  poem  or  sketch,  which  had  found  its 
way  into  a  newspaper  or  magazine,  they  had  been 
altogether  private.  Her  portfolio  was  filled  with  the 
overflowings  of  her  fertile  pen — but  it  was  to  her 
sufiicient  to  have  been  the  muse  and  the  historiogra- 
pher of  the  family ;  and  she  had  been  more  intent 
upon  the  cultivation  of  her  own  mind  than  upon 
gaining  for  herself  a  wider  appreciation  than  that  of 
the  immediate  circle  in  which  she  personally  moved. 

But,  in  Cincinnati,  she  was  at  once  surrounded  by 
appreciating  friends ;  and  as  a  member  of  a  highly 
intellectual  coterie,  mingled  more  than  ever  before  in 
literary  enjoyments  and  pursuits.  She  was  thus 
gradually  induced  to  appear  more  prominently  in 
those  walks  to  which  she  afterwards  became  so  bright 


VIII    BIOGRAPHY  OF  MRS.  CAROLINE  LEE  HENTZ. 

an  ornament ;  and  from  this  period  is  to  be  dated 
lier  rising  reputation  as  an  author. 

Their  stay  in  Cincinnati  was  of  less  than  two  years 
duration,  yet  such  was  the  fostering  effect  of  an  at- 
mosphere more  congenial  than  any  she  ever  afterward 
enjoyed,  that,  although  engaged  in  school  duties 
during  all  her  stay  in  this  city,  her  industry  and 
quickened  powers  accomplished  what  to  most  writers 
would  have  been  the  work  of  years ;  and  some  of  her 
waitings  of  this  time,  if  not  those  which  have  given 
Mrs.  Hentz  her  widest  reputation,  are  perhaps  those 
which  will  secure  it  longest  continuance. 

About  this  time  a  prize  of  §500  was  offered,  by 
Mr.  Pelby  of  the  Boston  Theatre,  for  the  best  original 
tragedy,  founded  upon  the  conquest  of  the  Moors  in 
Spain.  Mrs.  Hentz  entering  the  lists  with  De  Lara^ 
the  first  dramatic  effort  of  her  maturer  years,  was 
the  successful  competitor  ;  and  this  was  followed  by 
two  compositions  of  a  similar  character,  Lamorah^  a 
tragedy  of  Indian  frontier  life;  and  Constance  of 
Werdenherrjj  a  Dramatic  Poem,  the  scene  of  which 
was  laid  in  Switzerland  during  the  struggle  for  free- 
dom. Mr.  Pelby,  having  become  unable,  from  busi- 
ness difficulties,  to  pay  the  award  due  the  author, 
honorably  restored  to  her  the  copyright  of  Be  Lara. 
This  tragedy  was  subsequently  published  in  book 
form,  but  the  other  two,  with  the  exception  of  the 
limited  circulation  of  a  Georgia  newspaper,  were 
never  given  to  the  public. 

In  the  year  183-i,  Mr.  Ilentz  and  his  family  re- 


BIOGRAPHY  OF  MRS.  CAROLINE  LEE  HENTZ.        IX 

moved  to  Florence,  a  secluded  town  upon  the  Ten- 
nessee Kiver,  in  North  Alabama  ;  and  here,  absorbed 
in  family  and  in  school  duties,  occupied  with  the  care 
of  four  small  children,  the  youngest  but  an  infant  at 
the  time  of  their  removal  to  this  place,  and  sur- 
rounded by  a  circle  of  attached  pupils,  Mrs.  Hentz, 
for  nearly  nine  years,  retired  almost  entirely  from 
public  notice,  and  passed,  probably,  the  most  domes- 
tic portion  of  her  life.  At  no  previous  period,  since 
her  marriage,  had  her  academic  duties  been  so  con- 
fining, or  her  family  demanded  so  much  of  her  time, 
her  thoughts,  and  her  feelings ;  and  during  her  entire 
residence  in  Florence,  no  work  of  any  length  was 
composed  by  her.  Fugitive  poems,  hurriedly  writ- 
ten as  occasion  called  for  or  suggested  them,  are  the 
only  product  of  her  pen  during  this  long  interval  of 
her  auctorial  career. 

But  Mrs.  Hentz  could  not  so  entirely  elude  the 
notice  of  appreciative  minds,  and  in  the  year  1843, 
they  were  induced,  through  the  influence  of  literary 
friends,  to  remove  from  Florence,  and  take  charge  of 
a  flourishing  Seminary  in  Tuskaloosa.  This  city,  at 
that  time,  not  only  the  seat  of  the  University  of 
Alabama,  but  also  the  capital  of  the  State,  was  the 
centre  of  much  intellectual  influence,  and  possessed 
of  much  literary  society  ;  and  thus  surrounded,  Mrs, 
Hentz  was  induced  to  resume  her  long-neglected  pen, 
a  pleasure  now  permitted  more  freely  by  lightened 
domestic  cares. 

It  was  at  this  period  that  the  writer  first  formed, 


X  BIOGRAPHY  OF  MRS.  CAROLINE  LEE  HENTZ. 

as  an  inmate  of  Mrs.  Hentz's  family,  an  affectionate 
friendship  which  the  lapse  of  years  and  a  separation, 
but  rarely  interrupted  either  by  personal  intercourse 
or  correspondence,  have  only  warmed  and  heightened. 
He  remembers  her  now  most  distinctly  as  he  knew 
her  then — moving  among  a  numerous  throng  of  de- 
voted school  girls,  commanding  the  respect,  as  she 
Avon  the  affectionate  esteem,  of  those  who  were  her 
assistants  in  the  labors  of  instruction,  as  well  as  of 
those  who  were  committed  to  her  care — as  the  light 
and  centre  of  a  united  family ;  and  only  as  an  author 
when  an  hour  found  at  her  disposal  between  other 
duties,  or  snatched  from  the  watches  of  the  night,  was 
pressed  into  service  for  the  purpose. 

Aunt  Patty's  Scrap  Bag,  written  during  a  school 
vacation  in  18-1:4,  for  the  Philadelphia  Saturday 
Courier,  was  Mrs.  Hentz's  first  return  to  more  ex- 
tended composition,  and  the  only  work  of  the  kind 
written  at  this  time. 

On  their  removal  from  Tuskaloosa,  in  Dec,  18-1:5, 
Mrs.  Hentz  left  behind  her  a  more  generally  con- 
genial society  than  she  ever  afterward  enjoyed, 
although  a  visit  in  Mobile,  on  the  journey  to  Tus- 
kegee,  Alabama — their  next  home — was  a  brief,  but 
bright  episode  in  her  life. 

In  the  literary  history  of  Mrs.  Hentz,  Tuskegee — a 
small  place,  a  village  in  fact,  scarce  rescued  from  the 
relics  of  Indian  struggles  at  this  time — has  no  place  ;  it 
was  chiefly  made  memorable,  by  the  arrival  of  the 
time  when  the  family  circle  was  first  broken  up  by  the 


BIOGRAPHY  OF  MRS.  CAROLINE  LEE  HEXTZ.        XI 

departure  of  a  son,  to  pursue  his  studies  in  a  profes- 
sional school,  and  by  the  marriage  of  her  eldest 
daughter.  Another  removal,  however,  to  Columbus, 
Ga.,  early  in  18-i8,  enlarged  her  sphere  of  usefulness, 
and  induced  her  again  to  resume  her  pen  in  the  in- 
tervals between  the  engrossing  duties  of  the  Academy. 
Linda,  or  The  Young  Pilot  of  the  Belle 
Creole  ;  and  Eena,  or  The  Snow  Bird — were 
the  first  of  a  series  of  domestic  novels  which  have 
given  the  widest  spread  to  Mrs.  Hentz's  reputation, 
were  written  during  this  and  the  following  year. 

For  four  years  Columbus  continued  the  home,  but 
was  at  the  same  time  the  scene  of  many  changes  in 
Mrs.  Hentz's  domestic  life,  as  it  was  of  a  considerable 
extension  of  her  literary  achievements.  Her  own 
long  illness,  and  a  total  failure  of  Mr.  Hentz's  health 
from  which  he  never  recovered,  occasioned  them  to 
relinquish  further  attention  to  the  Seminary,  which 
had  been  under  their  charge  but  little  more  than  a 
year.  From  the  period  of  her  own  recovery — with 
the  exception  of  the  spring  of  1850,  during  which 
Mrs.  Hentz  sustained  alone  the  cares  of  a  select 
school — her  time  was  chiefly  devoted  to  writing,  now 
not  merely  as  a  recreation  but  as  a  reliance.  Her 
success  is  well  known,  as  it  was  confidently  antici- 
pated by  her  friends.  Rena,  or  The  Snow  Bird, 
was  succeeded  by  Marcus  Warland,  or  The  Long 
Moss  Spring  ;  and  Eoline,  or  Magnolia  Yale  ; 
written  in  1851,  at  the  bedside  and  amid  the  exhaust- 
ing  cares   of    attending   her   husband    through   the 


XII      BIOGRAPHY  OF  MRS.  CAROLINE  LEE  HEXTZ. 

most  distressing  period  of  a  prostrating  nervous 
disease. 

In  the  spring  of  the  year  following,  1852,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Hentz  were  persuaded  to  join  their  elder  chil- 
dren, who  were  now  settled  in  Florida,  among  whom 
they  henceforth  made  their  home.  The  wnnter  and 
spring  of  1853-4  were  brightened  to  her  by  a  visit  to 
the  scenes  of  her  childhood  and  to  the  few  remaining 
members  of  her  family,  but  otherwise,  bowed  by 
affliction  in  sickness  and  death — the  loss  successively, 
soon  after  her  removal  from  Columbus,  of  two  bro- 
thers and  a  sister — these  last  four  years  of  her  life 
were  toilsomely  divided  between  unremitted  devotion 
to  the  duties  of  a  wife  and  a  mother,  and  her  labors 
witli  her  pen. 

Helen  and  Arthur,  or  Miss  Thusa's  Spin- 
ning Wheel  was  written  in  1852 ;  and  in  this  and 
the  year  following,  The  Planter's  Northern 
Bride.  The  publication  of  this  latter,  her  largest 
w^ork,  w^as,  however,  delayed  until  1854.  To  these 
was  added  Robert  Graham,  a  Sequel  to  Linda, 
OR  The  Young  Pilot  of  the  Belle  Creole  ; 
written  during  the  winter  of  1851-5,  after  her  return 
from  New  England. 

Within  the  above  three  years  Mrs.  Ilcntz  had  also 
•prepared  for  publication  four  volumes,  containing  all 
of  her  earlier  tales  which  she  wished  preserved, 
which  volumes  are  published  under  the  titles  of 
"The  Lost  Daughter,"  "Courtship  and  Mar- 
riage," "  The  Banished  Son,"  and  "  Love  After 


BIOGRAPHY  OF  MRS.  CAROLINE  LEE  HENTZ.    XIII 

Marriage,"  and  also  conducted  in  a  large  measure 
the  literary  department  of  the  "  Columbus  Sentinel." 

The  year  1855  was  mostly  passed  at  St.  Andrew's 
Bay,  Fla.,  in  the  hope  that  the  sea  air  might  be  ben- 
eficial to  Mr.  Hentz.  During  the  summer,  however, 
leaving  him  with  their  daughter,  she  paid  a  visit  to 
her  eldest  son,  Dr.  Charles  A.  Hentz,  in  Marianna, 
where  she  wrote  her  last  novel,  Ernest  Linwood, 
and  immediately  on  its  completion  forwarding  it  to 
her  publisher,  without  any  respite  of  mind  or  body, 
she  returned  to  her  post  at  St.  Andrew's.  All  that 
bleak  winter,  which  will  be  remembered  on  the  Gulf 
coast  as  well  as  on  the  Canadian  frontier,  she  was  de- 
voted to  her  sick  husband,  who,  suffering  more  from 
a  nervous  than  from  any  organic  disease,  needed  her 
unremitting  attention,  often  nights  as  well  as  days.  In 
these  night  watches  the  attacks  of  an  insidious  enemy, 
which  was  not  yet  suspected,  were  made  upon  her 
constitution. 

In  January,  1856,  it  being  designed  to  return  to 
Marianna,  she  preceded  Mr.  Hentz,  to  prepare  for  his 
coming,  and  reached  Dr.  Hentz's  home  in  that  place 
on  the  31st.  A  severe  cold  caught  upon  the  journey, 
fastened  itself  upon  her  exhausted  system.  On  Feb. 
6th  she  completed  and  mailed  to  Mr.  Ballou,  of  Bos- 
ton, the  last  production  of  her  pen — JVo  CrosSj  no 
Crown.  That  very  day  she  was  seized  with  what 
proved  to  be  masked  pneumonia,  though  its  symp- 
toms did  not  reveal  themselves  until  the  10th.  The 
most  vigorous  treatment  was  unavailing,  and  on  Mon- 


XIV     BIOGRAPHY  OF  MRS.  CAROLINE  LEE  HENTZ. 

day  night,  Feb.  11,  185(3,  "she  passed  gently,  sweetly 
away."  It  seemed  almost  prophetical,  that  in  a  letter 
to  the  writer,  bearing  date  but  a  few  days  before  her 
death,  in  speaking  of  the  frequent  insincerity  between 
even  the  best  friends,  occurs  this  passage.  ''  We  pass 
through  the  world  with  veiled  hearts  and  muffled 
tongues,  and  we  speak  of  what  we  care  not  and  con- 
ceal what  we  really  do  care  about,  till  we  grow  cold 
and  artificial,  and  by  and  by  the  night  comes,  the 
shadows  fall,  and  there  is  no  time  for  confidence  or 
truth." 

Mr.  Hentz  survived  his  wife  but  eight  months,  and 
they  both  rest  together  in  the  grave-yard  of  the  Epis- 
copal Church  in  Marianna. 

Mrs.  Hentz  was  gifted  with  a  ready  and  fertile  pen. 
Her  numerous  tales,  of  very  difierent  degrees  of  merit, 
dating  from  periods  scattered  over  the  whole  of  her 
married  life,  and  written  for  various  newspapers  and 
magazines, .  have  enjoyed  the  highest  reputation  in 
that  class  of  literature ;  among  them,  The  Moh  Cap^ 
The  Pedler^  a  Sequel  to  the  Moh  Cap,  The  Pet  Beauty,  The 
Fortunes  of  a  Young  Physician^  The  Two  Sisters  and  Th,e 
Two  Uncles,  The  Beauty  Transformed,  The  Drunkard's 
Daughter,  Father  Hilario,  the  Catholic,  The  Tempted, 
Aunt  Mercy,  The  Village  Pastor's  Wife,  Thanhsgiving 
Day,  and  the  Stranger  at  the  Banquet,  are  all  contained  in 
a  volume  issued  under  the  title  of  "  Courtship  and 
Marriage,  or  The  Joys  and  Sorrows  of  Ameri- 
can Life  ;"  Aunt  Patty's  Scrap  Bag,  The  Lost  Daughter, 
Tlie  Maiden  of   Judea^    The   Pea- Green   2aJ'cta,    The 


BIOGRAPHY  OF  MRS.  CAROLINE  LEE  HENTZ.       XV 

Purple  Satin  Dress,  The  Velvet  Boddice,  The  Snow 
Flakes,  The  Soldier'' s  Bride,  De  Lara's  Bride,  and  the  Pre- 
mature Declaration  of  Love,  are  all  contained  in  a  vol- 
ume entitled  "  The  Lost  Daughter,  and  Other  Sto- 
ries OF  THE  Heart  ;"  Wild  Jack,  or  The  Stolen  Child, 
The  Banished  So7i,  Bell  and  Pose,  The  Little  Broom  Boy, 
Selim,  an  Oriental  Tale,  Howard,  the  Apprentice  Boy, 
The  Black  Mask,  a  Tale  of  the  Land  of  Flowers,  Magno- 
lia Leaves,  The  Paradise  of  the  Dead,  The  Sex  of  the 
Soul,  and  a  Trip  to  the  Bay,  are  all  contained  in  a  vol- 
ume entitled  "  The  Banished  Son,  and  Other  Sto- 
ries ;"  TJie  Bosom  Serpent,  Love  After  Marriage,  The 
Victim  of  Excitement,  The  Blind  OirVs  Story,  The  Par- 
lour Serpent,  The  Shaker  Girl,  A  Rainy  Eveiiing,  Three 
Scenes  in  the  Life  of  a  Belle,  The  Fatal  Cosmetic,  The 
Abyssinnian  Neophyte,  The  Village  Anthem,  My  Grand- 
mother's BrcLcelet,  and  The  Mysterious  Reticule,  are  all 
contained  in  a  volume  entitled  "LovE  After  Mar- 
riage, and  Other  Stories." 

It  is,  however,  through  her  larger  novels — eight  in 
number — and  with  the  exception  of  Aunt  Patty's 
Scrap  Bag,  and  The  Mob  Cap,  written  during  the 
last  eight  years  of  her  life,  that  she  is  most  widely  and 
most  favorably  known.  With  Mrs.  Hentz's  prose 
works,  therefore,  at  least  with  all  of  them  which  she 
would  wish  to  be  preserved,  the  public  are  in  posses- 
sion ;  and  it  is  as  a  prose  writer  that  she  is  ranked 
among  the  first  Female  Authors  of  America. 

What  Mrs.  Hentz  has  been  as  an  author,  and  what 
henceforth  is  to  be  her  rank  in  the  annals  of  Ameri- 


XVI  BIOGRAPHY  OF  MRS.  CAROLINE  LEE  HENTZ. 

can  literature,  tlie  public  will  decide ;  affection  will 
scarcely  be  esteemed  an  impartial  judge.  But  tliose 
only  who  knew  her,  and  to  all  such  was  she  dear,  are 
in  possession  of  the  materials  upon  which  to  base  a 
judgment  of  her  talents  or  her  genius.  The  position 
attained  by  many  of  those  with  whom  she  might  be 
brought  into  comparison,  has  been  due  in  no  small 
part  to  the  avoidance  or  the  neglect  of  domestic  du- 
ties and  cares.  Mrs.  Hentz's  brightest  honor  is 
awarded  her  by  those  who  knew  her  as  a  Mother, 
Wife,  and  Friend,  and  what  she  has  accompUshed 
has  been  based  upon  the  cultivation  of  her  youth,  and 
the  diligent  employment  of  such  scattered  opportuni- 
ties as  were  afforded  amid  more  important  duties. 
Never  for  a  moment  was  the  true  woman  sacrificed 
to  the  author ;  and  therefore  so  far  from  living  in  an 
ideal  world  of  her  own  bright  creation,  she  lived  in 
a  practical  and  real  world  which  her  smile  and  her 
love  made  bright  for  others  as  well  as  for  herself, 
and  which  gave  to  her  writings  their  chief  attraction 
by  shedding  upon  them  the  real  light  of  life.  It  was 
in  accordance  with  these  habits  of  mind,  that  she 
drew  portraitures  to  no  small  extent,  from  place, 
person  and  incident ;  and  her  friends  recognize  the 
scene  of  her  own  childhood  in  the  early  chapters  of 
the  Planter's  Northern  Bride  ;  the  spirit  which 
presided  at  her  own  fireside  in  Aunt  Patty's  Scrap 
Bag  ;  and  so  vividly  has  she  portrayed,  in  the  char- 
acter and  childhood  of  Gabriella  Lynn,  in  Ernest 
LlNWOOD,  what  all  have  felt  must  have  been  the  inner 


BIOGRAPHY  OF  MRS.  CAROLINE  LEE  IIEJSTTZ.     XVII 

life  of  the  author,  that  one  is  almost  tempted  in  the 
story  also  to  seek  for  a  resemblance  which  has  no  ex- 
istence. 

The  currente  calamo^  in  Mrs.  Hentz's  instance,  was 
no  myth.  Her  pen  glided  over  the  page,  hurrying  to 
keep  pace  with  the  flow  of  her  glowing  thoughts, 
and  impressing  every  thing  with  an  ease  and  fresh- 
ness which  were  most  genuine.  Sheet  after  sheet  was 
pushed  from  her,  to  a  group  of  friends  perhaps,  or  to 
her  children,  who  sat  by  her  reading  them,  as  the  un- 
born thoughts  took  being;  and  the  writer  has  seen 
many  of  her  sweetest  poems,  and  still  possesses  some, 
in  their  first  rough  draft,  sent  forth  on  their  little  mis- 
sion, neither  having  nor  needing  the  slightest  cor- 
rection. 

Although  Be  Lara  proves  the  powers  of  Mrs.  Hentz 
in  the  field  of  tragic  paths  to  be  of  a  high  stamp,  it 
was  domestic  life  that  she  loved  most  to  sketch ;  and 
while  her  fidelity  to  true  heart-history  and  her  radiant 
fancy  were,  each  in  its  own  way,  the  chief  attractions  of 
her  tales,  every  page  was  purified  by  an  exalted  moral, 
true  and  hallowed  by  a  Christian  spirit.  She  had  re- 
ceived many  and  varied  gifts  from  the  hand  of  Provi- 
dence. As  such  she  recognized  them  even  from 
childhood.  A  deep  realization  of  the  presence  of  a 
God  in  all  the  affairs  of  man  is  visible  in  her  earliest 
writings ;  and  from  the  time,  during  her  residence  in 
Florence,  when  together  with  her  husband  she  as- 
sumed the  discipleship  of  her  Saviour,  her  life  was 
one  earnest  effort  to  render  unto  God,  not  in  one  de- 


Jt. 


SVIII    BIOGRAPHY  OF  MRS.  CAROLINE  LEE  HENTZ. 

partment  alone,  but  for  all  His  gifts,  "  His  own  with 
usury."  Year  by  year,  gratitude  and  sorrow  alike 
drew  her  nearer  and  nearer  to  Him  in  whose  faith  at 
last  she  trustingly  lay  down  to  rest  after  the  burden 
of  the  day  was  forever  passed.  Not  a  few  who  have 
never  known  her,  have  and  shall  mingle  with  their 
admiration,  grateful  and  loving  thoughts,  while  those 
who  w^ere  privileged  to  know  her  well,  especially 
those  who  in  early  years  were  brought  under  her  in- 
fluence and  felt  her  affection,  shall,  with  her  children 
"  rise  up,  and  call  her  blessed." 


LINDA; 


OB,    THE 


YOUNG  PILOT  OF  THE  BELLE  CREOLE. 


CHAPTER  I. 


Linda  Walton,  at  eight  years  of  age,  was  the  most  spoiled, 
petted,  warm-hearted,  impulsive,  generous  little  tyrant  that 
ever  ruled  over  a  Southern  plantation.  Her  mother,  a  lovely, 
gentle,  pious  woman,  was  the  only  being  that  could  bend  her 
strong  will,  direct  her  wild  impulses,  and  counteract,  as  far 
as  possible,  by  firm,  yet  mild  discipline,  the  baneful  effect  of 
her  father's  excessive  indulgence.  Little  Linda  had  the  mis- 
fortune to  be  a  great  heiress,  for  her  grandfather,  who  resided 
in  Louisiana,  had  bequeathed  her  a  large  plantation  in  one  of 
those  rich,  luxuriant  plains  on  the  banks  of  the  Mississippi, 
which  are  fertile  as  the  borders  of  the  Nile,  with  an  hundred 
and  fifty  negroes,  to  convert,  by  their  labour,  the  cotton,  sugar, 
and  rice  into  accumulating  gold.  But  a  far  gi-eater,  deeper 
misfortune  befell  her,  about  one  year  previous  to  the  period  we 
have  chosen  to  present  our  young  heiress  to  the  reader.  That 
lovely,  gentle,  pious  mother,  who  exercised  such  holy  influence 
on  the  mind  and  heart  of  her  child,  was  taken  from  her  by 
death,  and  Linda  was  left  to  the  guardianship  of  a  father, 

13 


14  LINDA;    OR,    THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

whose  days  were  passed  in  superintending  his  v^ottou  and  his 
negroes,  and  whose  evening  amusement  it  was  to  pet  and 
caress  the  little  orphan,  whose  beauty  and  quick  intelligence 
were  his  pride  and  delight.  But  the  prime  minister  of  the 
household  was  Aunt  Judy,  her  nurse,  since  promoted  to  the 
rank  of  housekeeper.  Linda  had  loved  her  mother  as  few 
children  of  her  age  can  love,  and  her  grief  at  her  death  was 
BO  wild  and  extraordinary  that  the  negroes  regarded  her  for 
a  time  with  superstitious  terror.  The  child,  who,  in  the  fear- 
lessness of  her  sorrow,  would  go  and  sit  for  hours  on  her 
mother's  grave,  was  an  enigma  they  could  not  solve.  Mrs. 
Walton  had  kept  Linda  so  constantly  under  her  own  surveil- 
lance, forbidding  in  her  presence  those  awful  stories  of  ghosts 
and  phantoms  that  so  often  freeze  the  young  blood,  and  palsy 
the  bounding  limbs  of  childhood,  that  Linda  had  never  yet 
been  led,  by  the  hand  of  ignorance,  into  the  dark  regions  of 
the  spirit-land.  She  remembered  her  mother's  face,  as  if  it 
hud  been  the  face  of  an  angel,  such  as  she  had  last  seen  it,  so 
white,  so  pure,  with  that  sweet  glimmering  smile  death  leaves 
on  the  lineaments  of  human  loveliness.  For  a  while,  this 
holy  presence  was  with  her  during  the  long  day,  and  in  the 
dreams  of  night.  She  was  afraid  to  be  passionate  and  rebelli- 
ous, lest  that  sweet,  sad  smile  should  vanish  from  those  pale 
lips.  But  if  time  effaces  the  characters  engraven  on  the 
granite  surface  of  man's  heart,  how  much  sooner  will  it  sweep 
over  those  prints  traced  in  sand — the  impressions  of  child- 
hood? A  little  while,  the  angel-face  came  not  near  her  in 
the  sunshine  of  day,  but  when  the  shadows  of  night  deepened 
round  her,  it  would  bend  meekly  over  her  and  seem  to  listen 
10  her  evening  prayer.  A  little  longer,  and  Linda  learned  to 
revel  in  the  joy  of  independence,  to  issue  her  little  imperious 
command;  sure  no  mild  voice  would  reprove,  no  gentle^ hand 
restrain,  and  she  tried  to  forget  the  mother,  who,  liad  she 
lived,  would  have  rebuked  her  waywardness  and  controlled 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  15 

her  will.  But  no  matter  how  self-willed  Linda  might  be,  let 
Aunt  Judy  but  bind  up  her  head  with  jimson  leaves,  and 
say  she  felt  '^mighty  poorly,"  she  would  glide  noiselessly 
round  her,  hang  tenderly  on  her  sable  neck,  or  pat  her  dark 
cheeks  with  her  velvet  hands.  Sickness  and  sorrow  were 
sacred  things  to  her — and  passion  and  pride  subsided  in  their 
presence.  Such  was  Linda  at  eight  years  old,  such  were  the 
influences  that  acted  on  her  childhood. 

One  evening  Mr.  Walton  seemed  more  thoughtful  than 
usual.  He  ate  his  supper  in  silence,  took  Linda  upon  his 
knee,  and  watched  with  ominous  interest  the  motions  of  Judy, 
who  always  presided  with  aristocratic  dignity  over  the  ablutions 
of  the  tea-cups,  having  two  young  negroes  under  her  especial 
training,  who  treated  her  with  most  deferential  respect,  though 
they  rolled  their  black  eyes  and  showed  their  white  teeth 
metaphorically  behind  her  back.  It  was  evident  from  Aunt 
Judy's  air  and  style  of  dress,  that  she  belonged  to  the  ancient 
regime,  the  class  of  family  servants  who  are  admitted  into  the 
confidence  of  their  master's  household  and  are  treated  with 
kindness  and  affectionate  familiarity.  She  always  wore  a  stiff 
white  turban  coiled  round  her  head,  in  the  fashion  of  a  cornu- 
copia— a  nice,  starched,  checked  apron,  and  carried  a  white 
napkin  suspended  over  her  left  arm.  Her  African  blood  had 
not  been  corrupted  by  the  base  mingling  of  a  paler  stream. 
Black  as  ebony  was  her  smooth  and  shining  skin,  on  which 
the  dazzling  ivory  of  her  teeth  threw  gleams  bright  as  the 
moon  on  midnight.  Judy  had  loved  her  gentle  mistress  :  nay, 
more  than  loved — adored,  reverenced  her,  as  a  being  of  a  su- 
perior, holier  race  than  her  own.  She  mourned  her  death 
with  the  most  unaffected  grief,  though  she  said  it  was  a  sin  in 
her  to  mourn  after  her,  for  '^mistress  had  appeared  to  her,  the 
night  after  she  died,  with  beautiful  shining  wings  on  her  back, 
and  told, her  she  was  crone  to  heaven,  and  that  she  must  come 
and  meet  her  there.'' 


16  LINDA;    OR,    THE  YOUNG   PILOT 

Sincere  and  lasting  as  was  the  sorrow  of  Judy,  she  derived 
great  satisfaction  from  the  household  dignity  with  which  she 
was  invested.  In  the  morning,  her  white  turban  was  seen 
shooting  with  meteoric  swiftness  from  room  to  room,  while  a 
little  negro  trotted  behind  her,  jingling  a  basket  of  keys,  and 
Linda,  like  a  stray  sunbeam,  played  round  and  about  them, 
the  pet  and  darling  of  all. 

This  evening  Judy  knew,  by  a  kind  of  intuition,  that  there 
was  something  on  her  master's  mind  that  he  wished  to  com- 
municate. The  manner  in  which  he  glanced  into  the  fire — 
oh  !  the  glorious  light-wood  blaze  ! — how  it  illuminates  every 
nook  and  corner  of  the  room  ! — what  comfort  and  beauty  and 
radiance  it  imparts  to  the  cool,  autumnal  nights,  while  through 
the  open  windows  steals  the  mild  fragrance  of  departing  sum- 
mer !  The  rays  from  the  silver  candelabras,  the  glittering 
chandeliers,  are  pale  and  cold  to  the  efiulgence  of  the  light 
wood  fire.  It  is  the  glory  of  the  South.  By  this  the  dark 
cabin  of  the  negro  is  lighted  up  as  gorgeously  as  the  halls  of 
his  master ;  and  with  one  of  these  magnificent  torches,  he  can 
thread  the  thick  labyrinths  of  the  pine  forests  with  unerring 
footstep.  What  lonely  traveller  ever  passed  near  the  Southern 
planter's  habitation,  in  the  darkness  of  night,  that  did  not 
bless  the  hospitable  beacon  blaze  that  sunned  the  shadows  of 
his  path?  Those  tall  posts,  with  three  spreading  feet,  like 
the  tripod  of  the  Grecian  Pythoness,  surmounted  by  burning 
pine-knots,  placed  here  and  there  in  the  spacious  yard,  seen 
through  the  tall,  cone-shaped  trees,  are  60  many  brilliant 
Btars,  cheering  the  forest  gloom. 

"  Linda,"  said  Mr.  "Walton,  ''  would  you  not  like  to  have  a 
new  mother  ?" 

"  A  new  mother  I"  repeated  Linda,  fixing  her  large,  brown 
eyes  in  unutterable  wonder  on  his  face.  "  Where  is  she  going 
to  come  from  ?" 

''  There  is  a  very  nice  lady^  who  lives  somewhere  on  this 


OP   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  17 

river,  who  says  she  is  willing  to  be  a  kind  mother  to  you,  and 
I  hope  you  will  love  her  very  much,  and  be  a  very  good,  quiet, 
and  obedient  little  girl." 

^'  When  is  she  coming  ?  How  big  is  she  ?  Does  she  look 
like  my  own  dear  mamma  V  cried  Linda,  out  of  breath  with 
wonder  and  curiosity. 

Judy  gave  Minta  such  a  sudden  twitch  of  the  ear,  that  the 
cup  she  was  wiping  dropped  from  her  hand  and  dashed  to 
pieces  on  the  floor.  It  was  fortunate  that  Judy  found  a  legi- 
timate channel  in  which  her  wrath  could  find  vent,  for  the 
idea  of  a  new  mistress,  who  might  deprive  her  of  all  her 
household  honours,  was  hateful  to  her.  She  gave  the  unfor- 
tunate delinquent  several  smart  slaps  on  either  side  of  the 
head,  muttering  between  each  blow — 

^'  You  good  for  nothing,  no  account  nigger ;  go  long  into 
the  kitchen  this  minute.  New  mistress,  sure  enough.  Well, 
well,  old  Judy's  tired  enough  toting  the  keys  from  morning 
till  night.  'Spose  master  thinks  she  not  take  care  of  things — 
no  treat  Miss  Linda  proper  enough.  Oh,  dear,  dear — the 
Lord  have  mercy  on  us !  Poor,  dear  mistress !  When  she 
come  with  her  beautiful  spread-out  wings  and  told  me  to  meet 
her  in  heaven,  I  didn't  'spect — oh  dear  I" 

Here  the  faithful  creature,  as  if  impressed  with  a  presenti- 
ment of  the  evils  which  would  follow  the  stranger's  advent, 
bowed  her  head  in  her  lap,  and  rocking  to  and  fro,  began  to 
weep  bitterly. 

Linda  slid  with  lightning  rapidity  from  her  father's  arms, 
and  buried  her  head  in  the  lap  of  her  nurse. 

"  I  won't  have  a  new  mamma,"  cried  she.     "  Pa  shan' 
bring  her  here.     I  won't  have  an  ugly,  old  woman,  instead  of 
my  sweet,  pretty  mamma.     I  won't  be  a  good  girl ;  I  won't 
mind  her ;  that  I  won't." 

"  Linda,"  said  Mr.  Walton,  "  you  must  not  talk  in  that 
way,  or  I  shall  not  love  you  any  more ;  and  Judy,  it  is  very 


18  LINDA;    OR,    THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

wrong  in  you  to  talk  so  before  the  child.  Fm  not  at  all  dis- 
satisfied with  your  services.  I  know  you  are  faithful  and 
honest,  and  do  all  you  can  for  Linda  and  myself;  but  if  I 
choose  to  get  me  a  wife,  you  have  neither  of  you  a  right 
to  dictate.  It  is  for  Linda's  good,  and  for  the  good  of  the 
household.  She  is  a  lady  of  fortune,  a  widow,  with  one 
Bon— '' 

"  A  son  V  exclaimed  Linda,  lifting  her  head ;  "  how  big 
is  he  r 

''  Oh,  he  is  a  big  boy  of  thirteen  or  fourteen,  who  will  be  a 
brother  to  you,  and  teach  you  how  to  ride  on  the  poney,  and 
hunt  squirrels  in  the  wood." 

Linda  smiled  through  her  tears,  but  Judy  groaned  louder 
than  ever  at  the  idea  of  the  big  boy^  whose  muddy  shoes 
were  going  to  track  her  shining  waxed  floor,  and  litter  her 
clean-swept  yard. 

*^I  shall  leave  home  to-morrow,'^  continued  Mr.  Walton, 
"  and  I  expect  to  find  every  thing  in  the  best  order  on  my  re- 
turn. Judy,  see  that  your  finest  linen  and  whitest  counter- 
panes are  brought  into  service.  Have  a  plenty  of  nice  cakes 
and  pies  prepared,  and  dress  my  little  girl  in  her  prettiest.  I 
know  she  wants  her  new  brother  to  love  her,  and  she  will  be 
a  good  girl  for  my  sake." 

Mr.  "Walton  was  one  of  those  easy,  good-natured  men, 
whose  equilibrium  was  never  disturbed  by  the  impulses  of 
passion,  and  whose  will  was  easily  swayed  by  the  will  of 
others.  Conscious  of  the  extreme  flexibility  of  his  character, 
and  fearing  opposition  exactly  where  he  had  met  it,  he  had 
taken  the  precaution  to  arrange  every  thing  before  mentioning 
the  subject,  so  that  it  would  be  impossible  for  him  to  recede 
with  honour.  The  lady  who  had  been  recommended  to  him 
was  very  wealthy,  had  the  reputation  of  being  one  of  the  best 
manager?'  in  the  country,  raised  the  most  cotton,  had  the  best 
disciplined  Legrocs,  was  a  doting  mother  to  her  own  only  son, 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  19 

BJ\i  ccnscqucnlly  must  be  a  tender  one  to  his  only  orplian 
daughter. 

Mr.  Walton's  a%irs  were  getting  into  disorder, — liis  over- 
eeer  was  inefficient,  his  negroes  becoming  idle  and  unruly, 
Linda  terribly  spoiled,  and  Judy  growing  entirely  too  conse- 
quential. The  lady  in  question  would  remedy  all  thes^  evils. 
Her  feminine  but  powerful  influence  would  harmonize  every 
jarring  element,  and  his  days  would  glide  away  in  tranquil 
happiness. 

Linda,  with  the  quick-changing  feelings  of  childhood,  began 
to  think  with  pleasure  of  her  new  brother,  and  plan  many 
excursions  in  which  he  was  to  be  her  protector  and  guide.  She 
was  sorry  he  was  so  old  and  so  big ;  but  then  he  could  wait 
upon  her  better,  and  carry  her  over  the  brooklets,  and  climb 
the  trees  for  her,  to  get  nuts  and  fruit.  The  image  of  a  new 
mother,  too,  softened  down  into  something  that  she  longed  to 
love.  Notwithstanding  her  passionate  assertion  that  she 
would  not  be  good,  she  made  an  inward  resolution  that  she 
would  be  so,  for  her  strong  affections  yearned  for  more  objects 
on  which  to  shed  their  living  warmth. 

Judy,  too,  finding  the  evil  inevitable,  endeavoured  to  culti- 
vate the  grace  of  submission.  She  unlocked  the  store  of 
snowy  white  linen,  spread  out  the  finest  counterpanes,  bright- 
ened up  the  family  silver,  and  made  most  remarkable  prepara- 
tions for  a  wedding  feast.  There  was  a  perfect  tempest  in 
the  kitchen  among  the  rolling  pins  and  beating  sticks,  a 
deadly  massacre  in  the  poultry  yard.  The  little  negroes  were 
poking  their  woolly  heads  into  the  crannies  and  hollows  after 
eggs,  and  Linda,  in  spite  of  Judy's  remonstrances  and  pro- 
phecies that  she  would  get  sunburned  and  freckled,  would  be 
the  first  in  every  nest,  no  matter  where  it  mignt  be  situated. 
At  length  all  was  ready.  The  floor  shone  like  mirrors  in 
their  waxen  varnish,  through  which  their  rich,  dark  veins 
traced  bold  and  gi-aceful  figures,  resembling  the  finest  ara- 


20  LINDA;    OR,   THE   YOUNG  PILOT 

besque ;  wliite  curtains  were  tastefullj  festooned  eacli  side  of 
the  windows,  showing  the  delicate  leaf-work  of  the  vines  thai 
clambered  round  the  frames ;  green,  odoriferous  pine-bougha 
filled  the  chimneys,  though  at  night  to  be  displaced  by  the 
blazing  knot ;  vases  of  flowers  ornamented  the  mantel-pieces 
and  tables,  and  even  the  shelf  in  the  passage,  where  the  brass- 
bound  bucket,  with  its  silver-chased  cocoa-nut  shell-gourd, 
was  always  placed,  was  adorned  in  the  same  floral  manner. 
The  negroes,  in  their  holiday  dresses,  were  standing  on  logs 
or  perched  on  the  fence,  watching  their  master's  coming. 
Aunt  Judy's  white  turban  assumed  its  most  majestic  peak, 
and  a  pair  of  large,  gold  ear-rings  and  a  massy  finger-ring 
added  to  the  aristocracy  of  her  appearance.  She  had  arrayed 
Linda  in  her  prettiest  white  muslin  dress  and  pantalettes, 
brushed  her  short,  curly  brown  locks,  till  they  were  as  bright 
and  smooth  as  satin,  and  "  blessed  her  little  heart"  a  thousand 
times  over.  That  little  heart  was  throbbing  with  the  most 
intense  emotion.  She  began  to  conceive  a  great  awe  for  the 
being  for  whom  such  splendid  preparations  had  been  making. 
She  felt  unhappy  at  her  own  insignificance.  She  was  dwind- 
ling away  into  a  mere  mote  in  comparison  with  this  great  lady 
and  her  fourteen-year-old  boy.  She  was  afraid  they  would 
not  love  her;  that  her  father  would  not  love  her  any  more. 
Even  Aunt  Judy  would  not  care  so  much  about  her  as 
she  had  done.  Oh,  she  intended  to  be  very  good,  and  steal 
like  a  sweet  doveling  into  the  downy  nests  of  their  inmost 
hearts. 

With  such  thoughts  as  these  swelling  and  softening  her 
'young  bosom,  the  little  girl  gazed  down  through  the  avenue 
of  trees  that  led  to  the  house,  trying  to  catch  the  sound  of 
the  carriage  wheels,  to  be  the  first  to  announce  the  coming  of 
the  travellers.  Her  cheeks  were  pale,  her  eyes  moist.  She 
clung  to  Aunt  Judy's  hand  as  if  afraid  to  let  her  go  Was 
it  instinct  that  led  her  to  nestle  closer  to  that  humblo  friend. 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  21 

a',  this  moment,  wlien  all  the  happiness  of  her  future  life  was 
at  stake  ? 

^^ There  they  come — there  they  come!"  she  exclaimed. 
"  Don't  you  see  the  horses  ?  and  don't  you  hear  the  wheels 
hum  ?" 

[  Aunt  Judy  smoothed  down  her  apron,  and  leading  Linda  to 
he  gate,  she  arranged  the  negroes  in  a  row  on  each  side, 
through  which  the  master  and  mistress  were  to  pass.  Minta 
and  Dilsy,  her  two  handmaids,  stood  next  to  herself  and 
Linda,  grinning  from  ear  to  ear. 

The  carriage  rolled  up  to  the  gate,  and  Mr.  Walton,  alight- 
ing, assisted  his  bride  to  descend.  She  was  dressed  in  a  plain, 
lead-coloured  silk,  a  neat  white  bonnet  and  great  veil.  Her 
figure  was  good,  but  her  features,  being  screened  by  the  veil, 
could  not  be  distinguished. 

"  Robert,  my  darling,  take  care — you  are  treading  on  my 
dress.'^ 

This  was  addressed,  in  very  soft,  tender  accents,  to  a  tall, 
rough-looking,  but  handsome  boy,  who  bounced  out  of  the 
carriage  before  his  mother  had  placed  her  foot  on  the  ground, 
shoving  her  unceremoniously  on  one  side,  and  stamping  his 
feet  with  violence,  to  wake  them  up,  he  said. 

Judy  folded  her  hands  over  her  waist,  and  dropped  several 
deep  curtsies. 

^'  Welcome  home,  mistress.  Hope  to  see  you  very  well, 
mistress.'^ 

The  lady  made  a  little  nod,  but  said  nothing. 

"  This  is  my  daughter,  my  little  Linda,"  said  Mr.  Walton, 
taking  Linda's  trembling  hand,  and  drawing  her  towards»hira. 
"  Linda,  this  is  your  new  mamma ;  you  must  be  a  good  girl, 
and  she  will  love  you  very  much." 

The  lady  stooped  down,  kissed  her  through  her  veil,  said 
she  "  was  very  fond  of  good  little  girls,"  and  the  new  mistress 
passed  under  the  shadow  of  the  oak  trees  that  hung  over  the 


22  LINDA;   OR;   THE   YOUNQ   PILOT 

piazza,  crossed  the  threshold,  and  entered  the  mansion  whero 
she  was  henceforth  to  preside,  for  weal  or  for  wo. 

The  young  Robert  was  obliged  to  give  vent  to  his  super- 
fluous activity,  after  being  pent  up  so  long  in  the  limits  of  a 
carriage,  before  he  could  submit  to  any  in-door  restraints. 
He  pulled  the  woolly  locks  of  Judy's  handmaids  elect,  till 
they  screamed,  swung  Linda  half  a  dozen  times  round  him  in 
the  air,  then  laughed  to  see  her  fall  from  dizziness,  set  the 
dogs  after  the  geese,  and  the  cat  after  the  dogs, — making 
more  commotion  in  three  minutes  than  a  well-bred  youth 
would  in  so  many  years.  Judy  tried  in  vain  to  keep  down 
her  hot  African  blood. 

"  Never  mind  !  never  mind  !"  muttered  she,  brushing  the 
dirt  from  Linda's  muslin  frock,  and  smoothing  her  disordered 
ringlets.  "^ew  mistress,  sure  enough;  new  master,  too; 
one  master  plenty.  Knock  her  down,  he'll  eat  green  persim- 
mons for  his  supper.'' 

Linda  dared  not  open  her  lips.  She  was  terrified  by  his 
violence  as  much  as  she  was  disgusted  by  his  rudeness.  Her 
spirit  quailed  before  his  bold,  wicked-looking,  black  eyes,  and 
the  love  which  had  been  welling  forth  to  meet  this  brother, 
companion,  protector,  flowed  back  to  the  fountain.  She 
walked  slowly  into  the  house,  curious  to  see  the  face  of  the 
strange  lady,  whom  her  father  had  married. 

Mrs.  "Walton  stood  by  the  window  watching  the  gambols  of 
her  son,  so  absorbed  in  the  contemplation  she  noticed  not  the 
entrance  of  the  child,  who  gazed  so  earnestly  and  wistfully 
on  her.  Could  the  little  step-daughter  read  the  tablet  of  that 
smooth,  cold  countenance  ?  It  required  greater  skill  in  phy- 
siognomy than  Linda  possessed,  but  she  had  an  intuitive  per- 
ception of  character,  and  there  was  something  in  those  thin, 
compressed  lips,  pale  blue  eyes,  with  almost  white  eyelashes 
and  brows,  that  struck  her  very  chillingly.  She  had  the 
shining  forehead,  caused  by  the  tight-drawn  skin;  sandy  hair, 


OF    THE    BELLE    CREOLE.  23 

parted  with  elaborate  precision  ;  and  her  light  eje-brows  were 
strained  into  a  high  arch,  as  if  trying  to  remove  as  far  as  pos- 
sible from  the  stony,  passionless  orbs  below.  Linda  looked 
and  wondered  what  made  her  father  love  such  a  woman.  He 
was  so  handsome  himself,  and  her  mother  was  so  lovely.  She 
did  not  know,  foolish  child,  how  little  love  had  to  do  with 
this  eligible  second  marriage, — this  marriage  of  recommenda- 
tion and  convenience — of  policy  and  prudence. 

'''•  Oh,  I  shall  never  love  her  V  whispered  Linda's  sinking 
heart;  "and  she  will  never  love  me.  And  there  will  be  no 
use  in  my  trying  to  be  good."  She  turned  a  reproachful 
glance  at  her  father,  thinking  she  could  not  love  him  half  as 
well  as  before;  but  he  looked  so  kindly  and  affectionately  at  her, 
and  opened  his  arms  so  lovingly,  that  she  rushed  into  them, 
and  burying  her  head  in  his  bosom,  cried  and  sobbed  aloud. 

"  What  makes  her  cry  V^  said  Mrs.  Walton,  in  that  soft, 
peculiar  voice  which  startled  one,  from  its  want  of  harmony 
with  her  face.  "  I  hope  she  is  not  afraid  of  me.  Robert, 
dear,"  continued  she,  putting  her  head  out  of  the  window 
"don't  exercise  quite  so  much.  It  will  make  you  sick. 
Don't,  Kobert,  make  quite  so  much  noise.  Dear  fellow !" 
turning  with  a  smile  to  Mr.  Walton,  "  he  is  so  full  of  life  and 
spirit,  he  does  not  know  what  to  do.  He  has  been  still  so 
long,  too.  You  will  get  accustomed  to  his  little  sportive  ways, 
I  trust." 

"  Oh,  boys  will  be  boys,'^  said  he,  with  a  slight  embarrass- 
ment of  manner.  "  But  you  must  not  think  my  little  girl  is 
crying  from  fear  of  you.  She's  tired  and  excited,  and  over 
glad  to  see  me.  That  is  all.  You  will  find  her  a  good  deal 
spoiled,  but  her  heart  is  in  the  right  place.  Win  that  and 
you  can  do  any  thing  in  the  world  with  her." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  we  shall  be  good  friends  by  and  bv/' 
said  Mrs.  Walton.  "We  must  give  her  time  to  get  ac- 
quainted." 


24  LINDA;    OR,    THE   YOUNG  PILOT 

Who  ever  heard  of  children's  wanting  time  to  get  ac- 
quainted ?  The  snark  darts  not  more  instantaneously  along 
the  electric  chain  than  the  glance  of  affection  into  the  heart 
of  a  child.  Time  ! — the  heart  of  a  young  child  is  full,  brim- 
ming with  love.  Give  it  an  outlet,  and  it  gushes  forth  a  crys- 
tal stream,  carrying  freshness  and  beauty  wherever  it  flows. 

Had  the  step-mother  only  laid  her  hand  gently  on  the 
drooping  head,  imprinted  one  kind  kiss  on  the  moist  check  of 
Linda,  the  child  would  have  loved  her,  in  spite  of  her  chilling 
exterior ;  but  no  kiss  or  caress  was  proffered,  and  Linda  only 
clung  closer  to  her  father's  bosom,  assured  that  he  loved  her 
still,  and  would  continue  to  love  her. 

When  supper  was  announced.  Master  Robert  came  in  with 
a  thundering  noise,  scraping  his  shoes,  not  on  the  nice  mat  by 
the  threshold,  but  on  the  bright  floor. 

"Please,  young  master,^'  said  Judy,  almost  choking  with 
suppressed  anger,  "  please  wipe  your  shoes  on  the  mat.'' 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  old  unicorn  V  he  exclaimed,  shuffling 
as  hard  as  he  could.  "  If  you  don't  mind  what  you  say,  I'll 
smash  that  tower  on  the  top  of  your  head  as  flat  as  a  pancake. 
And  you,  you  great  goggle  eyes,''  said  he,  turning  to  Minta, 
who,  at  a  signal  from  Juda,  was  following  him  on  all-fours, 
wiping  his  tracks  with  a  tremendous  flourish  of  the  house- 
cloth,  "  if  you  don't  stop  chasing  me  with  that  old  rag,  I'll 
make  you  see  through  the  back  of  your  skull." 

"  Robert,"  ejaculated  the  soft  voice  of  his  mother,  "  don't 
speak  quite  so  loud ;  and  come  to  supper,  my  dear.  You 
must  be  hungry  by  this  time." 

Robert  obeyed  the  summons  with  alacrity,  and  was  the  first 
to  seat  himself  at  a  table  literally  covered  with  dainties. 
Linda,  who  had  been  taught  by  her  mother  that  there  was 
nothing  so  disgusting  as  gluttony  and  ill-breeding  at  table,  and 
tht.t  young  persons  should  always  wait  modestly  till  elder 
or*cs  were  served,  instead  of  calling  upon  the  servants  to  wait 


OP   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  25 

upon  them  first,  witnessed  with  indignant  astonishment  the  be- 
haviour of  Robert.  He  ordered  the  servants  here  and  there  in 
the  most  insolent  manner,  when  they  were  waiting  on  others ; 
filled  his  plate  with  cake,  waffles,  wafers,  sweetmeats,  and  meat, 
at  the  same  time  scattering  crumbs  over  the  white  table-cover, 
and  spilling  his  cofiFee  every  time  he  carried  it  to  his  mouth. 

^'  Here,  give  me  some  more  sugar,  possum,"  cried  he  to 
Dilsy,  having  christened  her  already  with  that  charming  nick- 
name. "  What  sort  of  slop  do  you  call  this  V  Then  filling 
his  cup  half  full  of  loaf  sugar,  he  declared  it  was  not  fit  to 
drink,  and  pushing  it  back  so  suddenly  that  the  contents  flew 
into  the  preserve  dishes  and  butter  plates,  he  called  for  a 
tumbler  of  butter-milk,  which  was  no  sooner  received  than  he 
issued  his  orders  for  a  glass  of  water.  After  having  eaten 
voraciously  of  every  thing  on  the  table,  asking  all  the  time 
what  stuff  this  was,  and  what  thing  that,  he  leaned  back  in 
his  chair  with  a  loud  hiccup,  and  began  to  drum  his  feet 
together  under  the  table.  His  mother  occasionally  put  in  a 
"don't  Robert,^'  or  "be  patient,  dear;"  but  she  seemed  not 
to  have  the  faintest  perception  that  the  comfort  of  others 
could  be  disturbed  by  his  youtliful  impetuodty,  as  she  called 
it.  Mr.  Walton  tried  to  look,pleased  and  cheerful,  but  even 
his  imperturbable  good  natui'e  was  tried  beyond  endurance. 
Was  this  the  commencement  of  his  tranquil  domestic  life,  on 
which  his  fancy  had  been  luxuriating  ?  Was  the  woman  who 
had  allowed  her  own  son  to  arrive  at  his  present  years,  with- 
out exerting  one  restraining  influence  on  his  animal  propen™ 
sities,  till  they  had  acquired  a  giant's  strength  and  a  tyrant's 
power  one  who  was  fitted  to  act  a  mother's  part  to  his  aff'ec- 
tionate  and  wayward  child  ?  Was  she  worthy  to  be  the  suc- 
cessor of  his  sweet  and  holy-minded  wife  ? 

Ah  !  Mr.  Walton,  these  mental  interrogatories  are  made 
too  late.  You  never  even  saw  the  woman  to  whom  you  have 
given  the  sacred  name  of  wife,  till  all  necessary  preliminaries 


26  LINDA;    OR;    THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

had  been  arranged  bj  a  mutual  friend.  You  never  saw  the 
graceless  boy,  whom  you  must  now  acknowledge  as  a  son,  till 
you  went  to  breathe  the  marriage  vows,  and  swear  before  God 
and  man  to  love  and  cherish  his  mother,  till  death  did  ye 
part.  You  were  told  it  was  an  eligible  match ;  that  she  was 
a  great  manager,  and  looked  well  to  the  ways  of  her  house- 
hold. You  thought  it  too  much  trouble  to  take  a  long  journey 
to  see  her  beforehand,  and  judge  of  her  feminine  attractions. 
She  had  one  husband,  and  that  was  a  surety  for  her  charms. 
The  heyday  of  your  youth  was  past,  and  the  golden  tints  of 
romance  faded  into  the  gray  tints  of  reality.  It  is  true,  when 
you  first  met  this  future  bride,  and  beheld  those  pale,  hard- 
looking  eyes,  those  high  arched,  white  brows,  and  those  thin, 
pinched  lips,  your  heart-springs  recoiled  with  a  sudden  jar 
that  destroyed  the  delicate  machinery  within.  And  when  that 
darling  boy  of  hers  first  exhibited  his  rare  domestic  accom- 
plishments, several  cold  shudders  ran  through  your  frame,  pre- 
monitory symptoms  of  future  wretchedness.  The  image  of 
your  fii'st  love  stole  across  your  memory,  in  all  the  freshness 
of  her  virgin  beauty,  the  delicacy  of  her  matron  loveliness, 
and  you  tried  to  shut  it  out.  Your  little  Linda,  too ;  you 
thought  of  her  and  sighed,  and  wished  you  had  not  been  so 
precipitate,  had  exercised  your  own  judgment  instead  of  fol- 
lowing blindly  the  counsels  of  others.  But  it  was  too  late  : 
your  honour  as  a  gentleman  was  pledged,  and  you  could  not 
retract.  You  would  probably  get  accustomed  to  all  this,  and 
become  reconciled  to  your  lot.  Yes !  and  your  child  will  be- 
come accustomed  to  have  all  her  warm  affections  driven  back 
into  her  breast,  and  turned  to  fiery  scorpions  there.  She  will 
be  accustomed  to  the  icy  rod  that  will  rule  her  by  night  and 
by  day ;  to  the  goad  that  spurs  when  weary  nature  sighs  for 
repose,  to  the  rein  that  chafes  when  the  roused  spirit  bounds 
for  action. — "  But  know  thou,  for  all  this,  thou  shalt  bo 
brought  unto  judgment." 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  27 


CHAPTER  II. 

As  Aunt  Judy  tad  anticipated,  the  keys  were  taken  from 
her  possession,  and  she  was  reduced  to  the  level  of  a  common 
servant.  This  was  a  sad  wound  to  the  faithful  creature's 
pride,  for  she  had  watched  over  her  master's  interests  with 
scrupulous  fidelity  and  real  attachment.  But  this  was  not  all 
the  humiliation  she  was  called  upon  to  suffer.  She,  as  well 
as  the  other  household  servants,  had  always  partaken  of  the 
same  food  that  was  placed  on  their  master's  table,  and  they 
had  never  been  stinted  in  their  portion.  It  is  true,  they 
waited  till  his  board  was  served,  and  his  room  swept  and  gar- 
nished; but  then  their  meals  were  partaken  in  uninterrupted 
enjoyment  and  with  contented  spirits.  The  new  Mrs.  Wal- 
ton made  a  material  change  in  this  arrangement.  The  meal 
was  measured  and  the  bacon  weighed  for  their  daily  food, 
and  whatever  dainties  were  left  uj)on  the  table  were  set  aside 
for  Master  Robert's  luncheons.  She  discovered  that  it  was  a 
great  waste  to  supply  servants  with  sugar,  and  that  coffee  was 
very  bad  for  their  constitutions.  But  the  greatest  trial  and 
mortification  poor  Judy  was  doomed  to  suffer,  was  the  with- 
drawal of  Linda  from  her  influence  and  presence. 

''  Linda  has  been  left  entirely  too  much  with  the  negroes," 
said  Mrs.  Walton  to  her  husband.  "  I  can  do  nothing  with 
her  while  Judy  stays  in  the  house  and  interferes  with  my  au- 
thority. I  shall  put  Judy  in  the  weaving-room,  and  Miuta 
and  Dilsy  in  the  spinning-room.  I  have  servants  of  my  own, 
already  trained,  whom  I  shall  substitute  in  their  place.'' 

What  could  Mr.  Walton  say  ?  She  was  literally  conform- 
ing to  his  wishes,  in  separating  Linda  from  her  sable  com' 
panions,  and  in  superintending  her  constantly  with  her  own 


128  LINDA  ;    OR,  THE   YOUNG   TILOT 

eye;  but  he  could  not,  without  many  secret  pang*?,  see  the 
faithful  servants,  who  doated  on  his  child,  banished  from  the 
household,  and  strangers  fulfilling  their  duties  with  coldness 
and  constraint.  Linda  was  outrageous  when  she  learned  the 
new  organization  of  the  family.  She  declared  that  "  Aunt 
Judy  shouldn't  be  put  out  of  the  house ;  that  she  would  go  and 
live  in  the  weaving-room ;  that  pa  ought  to  be  ashamed  to  let 
his  old  servants  be  treated  so  bad ;  that  she  was  an  heiress, 
and  a  big  heiress,  and  she  had  a  right  to  be  minded.'' 

Having  for  the  first  time  burst  through  the  bonds  of  fear, 
her  long  pent-up  feelings — her  sense  of  wrongs  and  degrada- 
tion— her  hatred  and  wrath — refused  to  be  restrained ;  she 
wept  and  stamped  her  little  feet  in  the  impotence  of  her  rage. 

^^Take  that  child  up  stairs,"  said  Mrs.  Walton,  without 
raising  her  voice  in  the  least,  to  one  of  her  own  strong-armed 
slaves ;  "  take  her  up  stairs." 

Mr.  Walton,  however  his  judgment  might  be  convinced 
that  she  deserved  punishment,  could  not  bear  to  see  her  car- 
ried out  of  his  sight,  where  he  knew  not  what  penalty  would 
be  inflicted  on  her.     The  feelings  of  the  father  were  roused. 

"  Put  that  child  down,"  said  he,  with  authority.  ^^  I  will 
take  her  away  myself." 

"  Mr.  "Walton,"  said  his  lady,  softly,  ^'  my  servants  must 
obey  me,  and  I  allow  no  one  to  interfere.  You  must  leave 
the  management  of  that  child  to  me." 

The  child  was  borne  screaming  from  the  room,  stretching 
out  her  arms  to  her  father  and  crying  out  till  he  could  heai 
her  no  longer. 

"  Please,  pa,  please  take  me  with  you  I" 

Had  Mr.  Walton  at  this  moment  exerted  the  spirit  of  ? 
man  and  a  father ;  had  he  rescued  his  child  from  the  iroi 
despotism  that  was  beginning  to  coil  around  her ;  had  he  him- 
self administered  needed  rebuke,  mingling  \wse  counsel  with 
words  of  love,  what  a  blessed  change  he  might  have  wrought! 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  29 

But  there  was  something  paralyzing  in  the  influence  of  that 
unchanging  eye,  that  unvarying  tone,  the  soft  "shall"  and 
"will/'  that  was  always  issuing  from  those  thin  lips.  Like  many 
other  easy-tempered,  weak-willed  men,  he  yielded  to  a  power 
he  loathed  and  despised,  and  became  a  passive  instrument  of 
evil. 

The  next  time  he  saw  his  little  daughter,  she  was  sitting  in 
a  low  chair  by  her  step-mother,  busily  engaged  in  making 
patch-work.  She  had  a  subdued,  sullen  air ;  her  eyes  were 
red  and  swollen,  and  every  now  and  then  she  drew  a  long 
breath,  like  the  last  sigh  of  a  tempest.  She  raised  not  her 
eyes  at  her  father's  entrance,  nor  bounded  to  meet  him,  as  she 
was  wont  to  do.  Through  and  through,  and  through  again, 
went  her  long-threaded  needle,  though  a  tear  that  dropped  on 
the  bright  calico  showed  that  she  could  not  see  very  well 
where  it  was  going. 

"  Linda,  my  darling,"  said  the  self-upbraiding  father,  "como 
and  sit  in  my  lap,  and  show  me  that  pretty  work  you  are 
doing." 

"  I  have  given  her  a  task,"  replied  Mrs.  Walton,  "  and  she 
must  finish  it  before  dinner." 

"  She  has  never  been  used  to  confinement,"  Mr.  "Walton 
Vtintured  to  say,  "  and  I  am  afraid  it  will  make  her  sick." 

"  Shame  to  those  who  have  had  the  charge  of  her,"  said 
I^trs.  Walton,  "  that  she  is  not  used  to  it.  A  child  of  eight 
years  of  age  is  old  enough  to  be  taught  habits  of  industry 
and  propriety.  I  do  not  confine  my  son,  for  I  wish  him  to 
have  a  manly  and  independent  character ;  but  girls  are  very 
difi'erent.     The  domestic  virtues  must  be  cultivated  in  them." 

'*  But  I  should  think  that  an  hour  at  a  time,"  continued 
Mr.  Walton " 


"  Mr.  Walton,  I  wish  to  be  thoroughly  understood  in  this 
matter,"  interrupted  she,  quietly;  "when  we  married,  you 
asked  me  to  take  charge  of  vour  daughter  and  be  a  mother  to 


30  LINDA;    OR,  THE  YOUNG   PILOT 

her.  A  lady  must  be  a  mucli  better  judge  thau  a  gentlemaik 
of  the  education  of  a  young  girl.  Linda  has  promised  to 
obey  me,  and  I  mean  she  shall.  And  one  thing,  let  me  say, 
iMr.  Walton,  I  have  never  allowed  any  one  to  interfere  with 
my  domestic  arrangements,  and  I  never  will." 

This  was  unanswerable  ;  at  least  not  a  word  was  uttered  in 
reply.  Mr.  Walton  gazed  upon  Linda,  who  sat  sewing  and 
sewing  without  lifting  her  eyes,  heaving  those  long-drawn 
breaths,  which  sound  as  if  they  came  from  under  a  leaden 
weight.  What  spell  had  converted  the  passionate  little  rebel 
into  that  silent,  plodding  seamstress  ?  Untie  her  muslin 
apron  ;  look  at  those  purplish  streaks  on  her  tender  back,  and 
the  secret  of  her  submission  may  be  discovered. 

It  was  the  first  time  that  personal  chastisement  had  '^ver 
been  applied  to  Linda.  Her  own  mother  had  always  been 
able  to  subdue  her  without  having  recourse  to  a  means  which 
should  be  the  last  exercise  of  parental  authority;  and  her 
father  had  never  lifted  his  hand  to  smite  a  slave,  much  less 
his  child.  At  first,  the  shame  and  the  insult  maddened  her 
to  wilder  rebellion,  and  she  cried  out,  between  every  blow,  "  I 
don't  care ;  you  may  kill  me ;  but  I  won't  mind."  At  length 
physical  suffering  triumphed  over  pride  and  self-will.  She 
pleaded  for  pardon,  and  promised  obedience.  That  promise 
once  given,  she  resolved  to  obey.  A  high  sense  of  honour, 
remarkable  in  so  youtig  a  child,  made  her  attach  a  solemn 
obligation  to  her  word. 

She  would  not  complain  to  her  father,  for  it  would  do  no  good. 
She  would  not  complain  to  Aunt  Judy,  for  they  would  whip 
her  too.  She  would  try  to  submit,  and  never  again  expose 
herself  to  the  burning  shame  and  smarting  pain  of  the  lash. 

When  her  day's  task  was  completed,  and  she  was  allowed 
to  go  out  in  the  open  air  for  a  while,  she  flew  to  Aunt  Judy's 
room,  who  almost  smothered  her  with  caresses.  But  Linda's 
tmarting  back  writhed  wnder  the  pressure  of  her  arms. 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  31 

«  Oh,  you  hurt  me,  Aunt  Judy ;  you  hurt  me  so  \" 

The  quick  eye  of  the  nurse  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  dark- 
ening stripes.  The  poor  creature  ''  lifted  up  her  voice  and 
wept  aloud.''  She  kissed  the  delicate  skin  a  thousand  times 
over  between  each  purple  line,  murmuring  the  name  of  her 
"  poor,  dear,  dead  mistress.'' 

"  Oh,  Lord,  have  mercy  on  us  !"  she  cried.  "  I  never 
'spected  to  come  to  this.  Bless  her  little  soul  and  body  !  If 
it  had  been  poor  Judy's  back,  she  no  mind  it  one  bit.  But 
this  little,  white,  tender  creature  !— Oh,  Lord,  Lord  !  what 
will  become  of  that  awful  woman  at  the  day  of  judgment, 
when  poor,  dear  mistress  stand  there  with  beautiful  white 
wings  on,  and  a  golden  harp  in  her  hand  ?  She  stay  way  off; 
way  off  by  the  black  pit,  all  black  hisself— howling  !" 

Judy  did  not  call  upon  the  name  of  the  Lord  in  vain,  aa 
too  many  do,  in  the  moment  of  strong  excitement.  She  was 
sincerely  and  devoutly  pious.  She  believed  in  the  judgments 
of  the  Almighty  and  the  retributions  of  eternity.  She  be- 
lieved the  blood  of  a  Saviour  had  power  to  cleanse  the  sins  of 
the  African  as  well  as  the  white  man,  and  that,  if  she  trusted 
in  Him  for  salvation,  she  would  be  a  beautiful  white  angel  in 
heaven.  It  is  true,  her  ideas  of  spiritual  happiness  were  very 
dim  and  obscure.  Her  visions  of  heaven  consisted  of  golden 
streets  and  golden  harps,  and  white-winged  spirits,  and  of 
an  exceeding  great  glory. 

She  often  imagined  she  saw  wondrous  sights  and  heard 
wondrous  things,  and  she  described  them  sometimes  with  an 
eloquence  that  might  inspire  belief.  But  of  that  invisible 
glory  of  holiness  which  fills  the  inner  temple  of  the  soul,  that 
heaven  of  purity  and  faith  begun  in  the  heart  in  this  world, 
poor  Judy  had  but  a  faint  conception. 

From  this  time,  the  life  of  little  Linda  assumed  a  character 
of  dreary  monotony.  Day  after  day  she  sat  in  her  little 
chair,  drawing  her  needle  through  and  through  the  everlast- 


( 


oli  LINDA;    OR,    THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

ing  patchwork,  with  a  look  of  sad  and  oft-times  sullen  endur. 
ance,  clouding  her  late  joyous  countenance.  She  was  as  the 
sparkling  fountain  imprisoned  within  marble  tablets;  the  bird, 
with  an  iron  weight  fastened  to  its  heaven-plumed  wing ;  the 
rosebud,  enveloped  in  a  leaden  case.  While  she  was  tied 
down  regularly  to  her  morning  and  evening  tasks,  Robert  was 
permitted  to  roam  at  large,  in  all-  the  glory  of  independence, 
making  anarchy  and  uproar  wherever  he  went.  He  never 
came  near  her  without  pulling  her  hair,  pinching  her  arms, 
pulling  her  chair  from  under  her,  sticking  pins  into  her,  and 
performing  various  other  interesting  experiments.  At  first, 
she  shrieked  and  resisted ;  but  finding  the  more  she  seemed 
to  feel  the  torments  he  inflicted,  the  more  he  redoubled  them, 
she  learned  to  bear  them  with  the  unflinching  fortitude  of  the 
Spartan  boy ;  and  Kobert,  deriving  no  amusement  from  the 
system  of  passive  endurance,  turned  the  artillery  of  his  .mis- 
chief in  other  directions. 

Mrs.  Walton,  who  had  perceived  from  the  first,  the  instinc- 
tive dislike  of  Linda,  conceived  a  hatred  for  the  child,  which 
grew  with  the  powers  she  exercised  over  her.  Day  by  day 
she  imposed  upon  her  new  restraints,  and  diminished,  as  far  as 
possible,  the  scanty  store  of  enjoyments  left  to  her  desolate 
childhood.  Linda  had  a  little  room,  opening  into  her  father's, 
where  she  had  slept  since  her  mother's  death.  Though,  as  it 
has  been  said  before,  she  was  a  fearless  child  and  not  afraid 
of  the  ghost-peopled  realms  of  the  darkj  she  loved  her  little 
room,  and  its  contiguity  to  her  remaining  parent.  It  was 
pleasant  when  she  awaked  in  the  night  to  hear  his  breathing 
near ;  it  was  pleasant  in  the  bright  morning  to  hear  his  voice 
calling  her  to  awake,  '^  for  the  sun  was  up,  and  the  little  birds 
rflngiiig  about  the  windows. '^ 

One  evening,  wlu-n  tired  and  listless  she  sought  her  little 
couch,  she  was  surprised  by  seeing  a  larger  bed  in  its  place,  a 
finer  counterpane,  and  uu  air  of  superior  comfort  about  the 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  33 

room.     She  turned  to  her  step-mother  with  a  glow  of  grati- 
tude lighting  up  her  whole  face. 

"  Oh,  how  nice  it  looks/'  she  exclaimed.  ^'  What  a  pretty 
counterpane — what  nice  curtains, — and  did  you  fix  it  this  fine 
for  me  ?     How  very,  very  good.'' 

"  Master  Robert  is  going  to  have  this  room,"  said  the  negro 
who  now  waited  upon  her,  one  of  Mrs.  Walton's  trained  ser- 
vants. 

"  He  shan't  i'  :?xclaimed  Linda,  passionately,  forgetting  in 
her  overwhelming  astonishment  her  promise  of  implicit  obe- 
dience. "He  shan't  have  it — it's  mine — next  to  my  own 
dear  papa's.  He  is  a  great  big  boy,  and  ought  to  be  ashamed 
to  want  to  sleep  here.  This  is  pa's  house,  and  I'm  an  heiress, 
and  I  won't  give  it  up  V 

Pale  with  passion  now  looked  that  young  face  so  lately  il- 
luminated with  the  glow  of  gratitude.  The  spoiler  had  entered 
her  secret  sanctuary  and  robbed  her  of  her  household  gods. 

"  Robert  has  always  slept  near  me,"  calmly  rei^lied  Mrs. 
Walton,  "  and  I  mean  he  shall  do  so  still.  I  expected  to  find 
proper  arrangements  for  him  when  I  came,  but  as  no  one 
thought  of  his  comfort,  I  have  provided  for  it  myself.  Here, 
Nelly,  take  Miss  Linda  to  her  new  apartment,  and  if  she 
shows  the  lest  rebellion,  let  me  know  it.  Another  word  of  in- 
solence shall  not  pass  unpunished." 

The  vision  of  the  disgracing  lash,  its  whizzing  sound,  the  pain, 
the  smart,  the  shame,  passed  before  the  mind  of  the  outraged 
child.  One  look  from  these  dark  brown  eyes  flashed  on  the 
step-mother's  impassive  face,  then  turned  on  the  walls,  en- 
deared by  the  memory  of  a  mother's  tenderness  and  a  father's 
care,  one  long,  deep  sigh,  and  the  child  passed  on  to  the  remote, 
comfortless  apartment  prepared  for  her  reception.  It  was  a 
large,  unplastered  room,  almost  entirely  destitute  of  furniture. 
The  shadows  hung  in  gloomy  wreaths  from  the  dark  rafters 
Bcarcely  lighted  up  by  the  dim  candle  which  Nelly  placed  on 


S4  LINDA;    OR,    THE    YOUNG   Pn.OT 

a  table  of  red-stained  pine.  It  was  a  room  which  the  firsf 
Mrs.  Walton  had  used  as  a  lumber-roonij  little  imagining  her 
orphan  daughter  would  ever  be  driven  there  by  the  cruelty  of 
a  tyrannizing  successor. 

Let  it  not  be  supposed  that  the  author  of  this  tale  would 
cast  an  odium  on  that  class  of  females  called  to  fulfil  the 
duties  of  step-mother.  There  are  many  who  carry  to  this 
difl&cult  and  responsible  situation  the  holiest  purposes  and 
tenderest  affections;  who,  standing  in  tlie  place  of  the  de- 
parted, feel  the  solemnities  of  death  hallowing  the  duties  of 
life ;  who,  feeling  themselves  called  to  a  sacred  mission,  gird 
Tip  their  spirits  to  the  task,  even  though  ingratitude  and  neg- 
lect and  misconception  may  be  their  best  reward.  There  are 
those  who  bind  up  with  gentlest  hand  the  wounds  of  orphan- 
age ;  revive  with  the  dew  of  tenderness  and  the  smile  of  en- 
com'agement  the  withering  garlands  of  household  joy,  and 
convert  the  home,  which  death  has  made  desolate,  into  a 
dwelling  of  peace  and  happiness  and  love.  Blessings,  endless 
blessings,  cluster  round  these  ministering  angels  of  earth. 
The  spirits  of  the  dead  hover  around  them,  shedding  balm 
from  their  refulgent  wings.  The  prayers  of  innocent  child- 
hood go  up  to  the  heaven  of  heavens  in  their  behalf,  and  the 
heart  of  widowed  love  and  son'ow  reposes  in  hope  and  confi- 
dence on  their  faithful  bosoms.  Oh,  that  one  of  these  blessed 
ministering  angels  had  been  sent  to  watch  over  little  Linda ! 

She  sat  down  in  that  large,  dark  room,  on  the  foot  of  her 
little  bed,  and  looked  all  around  it  with  a  slow,  melancholy  gaze. 
She  seemed  to  take  in  at  last  the  realities  of  her  situation,  and 
the  dreariness  of  her  life's  future  rose  appallingly  before  her. 
With  the  instinctive  feeling  of  dependence  on  God,  which  leads 
the  human  heart  to  turn  to  him  when  earthly  comforts  fail, 
ehe  opened  her  trunk,  and,  taking  out  her  mother's  Bible, 
knelt  down  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  and  began  to  search  for 
pome  passage  which  that  dear  mother  hud  taught  her  to  read 


or   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  ^ 

"  I  remember/^  said  tlio  child  to  herself,  "  something  about 
God's  hearing  the  young  ravens  when  they  cry,  and  about  his 
seeing  the  little  sparrows  when  they  fall.  She  turned  the 
leaves  without  finding  the  text  she  sought,  when,  by  chance, 
her  eye  caught  some  words  which  arrested  her  attention  : 
'^  When  my  father  and  mother  forsake  me,  then  the  Lord  will 
take  me  up/'  She  read  these  again  and  again.  She  read 
them  to  herself,  then  repeated  them  aloud.  ^'  Oh  V  thought 
she,  ^'  the  Lord  will  take  care  of  me,  for  there  is  no  one  but 
God  and  Aunt  Judy  to  love  me  now."  Large  tears  roiled 
down  her  cheeks  and  fell  on  the  leaves  of  her  Bible.  She 
was  very  sorry  she  had  given  way  to  such  a  burst  of  passion, 
for  she  was  afraid  the  Lord  would  not  love  her  for  it ;  but 
she  would  pray  to  him  to  forgive  her,  and  she  would  promise 
never  to  do  so  any  more. 

The  negro  Nelly,  whose  own  pallet  was  spread  near  Linda's 
bed,  and  who  had  thrown  herself  across  it,  looked  with  a  kind 
of  awe  upon  the  child,  with  her  innocent  hands  clasped  to- 
gether an.d  her  tearful  eyes  raised  to  heaven.  She  hated  her 
despotic  mistress ;  and  though,  from  fear  of  offending  her,  she 
spoke  in  a  harsh  tone  to  Linda  before  her  face,  her  natural 
sense  of  right  revolted  from  being  made  the  passive  instru- 
ment of  oppression.  She  hated  Master  Kobert  too,  the  noisy, 
pampered,  selfish  tyrant,  and  thought  it  a  shame  that  he 
should  be  installed  in  Miss  Linda's  pretty,  quiet  room.  She 
thought  all  this  when  Linda  was  giving  vent  to  her  burnino" 
anger,  and  asserting  her  rights  with  such  passionate  vehe- 
mence :  but  now,  when  she  saw  her  subdued  to  such  patient 
meekness,  reading  her  Bible,  then  praying  with  such  a  holy 
look,  the  negro's  heart  grew  blacker  and  blacker  towards  her 
mistress,  and  tenderer  and  softer  towards  her  young  victim. 

"  Never  mind,  young  missy,"  said  she,  after  spreading  the 
clothes  carefully  over  her,  ^^  I  rather  be  in  your  place  than 
hers,  any  how.     She  be  sorry  bimeby,  you  see,  if  she  ben't 


36  LINDA;    OR,    THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

Massa  Robert  give  her  trouble  enough  hisself  'fore  long. 
Never  mind,  he  pay  her  for  treating  little  missy  so  bad.  Oh, 
lud !  lud  !  think  of  Massa  Robert  in  Miss  Lindy's  nice  little 
room !  He  eat,  stuff  hisself  all  day  long,  then  turn  and  toss 
and  make  hisself  sick  all  night/' 

Linda  fell  asleep  with  the  gutteral  accents  of  the  negro 
murmuring  in  her  ear. 

When  Mr.  Walton  retired  for  the  night,  he  went,  as  was  his 
custom,  to  look  at  his  sleeping  child,  and  to  indulge  in  those 
affectionate  meditations  which  the  poor  man  habitually  re- 
pressed in  the  presence  of  his  wife.  What  was  his  astonish- 
ment to  see  a  boyish,  sunburned  face ;  a  shock  of  thick,  black 
hair  spread  about  on  the  pillow — in  short,  the  slumbering 
beauties  of  Master  Robert,  instead  of  his  own  lovely  little 
girl. 

^^  What  is  all  this  ?"  cried  he  to  Mrs.  Walton,  in  a  tone 
louder  than  he  had  ever  dared  to  use  before ;  "  what  is  that 
great  boy  doing  there  ?  And  what  have  you  done  with  my 
child  V 

"  I've  given  her  another  room,''  replied  the  soft,  hissing, 
serpent  voice.  "Robert  is  to  have  her's  now.  He's  very  apt 
to  be  sick  in  the  night,  and  it  is  not  safe  for  him  to  be  by 
himself.  I  always  had  him  near  me  at  home,  and  I  mean  he 
shall  be  now." 

"But  where's  Linda?  what  have  you  done  with  her?" 
cried  the  father,  wiping  the  thick  drops  of  perspiration  from 
his  brow. 

"  She's  in  a  very  comfortable  room.  But  you  needn't 
speak  so  loud,  Mr.  AYalton.  You'll  wake  Robert,  and  1  can't 
have  him  disturbed." 

"  I'll  wake  him  with  a  vengeance,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Walton, 
the  feelings  of  the  indignant  father  getting  the  mastery  of 
the  husband's  grovelling  fears.  "  I'll  rouse  him  from  his  soft 
nest  with  a  witness.     Here,  you  lubberly  rascal,  you  great 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  S7 

selfish  baby  you,  get  up  and  tell  me  what  you've  done  with  nay 
poor,  precious,  little  Liuda." 

''Let  me  alone,  let  me  alone,"  cried  Robert,  shaken  and 
roused  by  no  very  gentle  grasp.     "  Mother,  make  him  let  go/' 

"  You  had  better  not  touch  that  child  I"  exclaimed  the 
mother,  pushing  her  husband  back  with  a  force  that  sent  him 
reeling  against  the  wall.  There  was  something  terrific  in  the 
pale  passion  of  her  stony  eyes  and  ashy  lips,  that  white  heat, 
so  intense  and  fearful.  She  fixed  those  eyes  upon  him  with 
such  a  moveless,  metallic  glare,  he  became  weak  and  passive 
as  the  bird,  when  fascinated  by  the  gaze  of  the  rattlesnake. 
"  If  you  ever  touch  that  boy  again,  you'll  rue  the  hour  that 
you  was  born.'^ 

"  I  rue  it  now,"  groaned  the  miserable  father,  and  taking 
his  lamp  in  his  desperate  hand,  he  went  into  the  long  passage 
which  extended  from  his  own  chamber  to  a  wing  of  the  man- 
sion. He  opened  the  first  room,  for  there  were  several  lead- 
ing into  this  passage.  It  was  a  chamber  handsomely  furnished 
for  company,  and  so  was  the  next.  He  went  on,  till  he  found 
the  large,  unplastered  room  to  which  Linda  was  consigned, 
like  a  piece  of  useless  rubbish,  not  worth  the  keeping.  There 
she  lay,  in  the  sweet,  deep  sleep  of  innocence  and  childhood ; 
one  round,  white  arm  drooped  from  the  side  of  the  bed,  on  the 
other  her  cheek  was  pillowed.  Her  eye-lashes  were  still  moist 
with  tears,  but  there  was  an  air  of  placid  sweetness  and  resig- 
nation difi"used  over  her  countenance  that  melted  his  inmost 
soul.  Scorn  him  as  you  will,  that  weak,  woman-ruled  man, 
but  pity  him  too.  Did  you  ever  read  the  story  of  the  prisoner, 
who  was  immured  in  an  iron  cell,  with  two  or  three  grated 
windows  ?  How  one  by  one  those  grated  windows  closed  up, 
the  iron  walls  grew  narrower,  and  more  narrow,  till  the  shrink- 
ing, sufi"ocating  victim  felt  himself  crushing  in  his  iron  cofiin  ! 
Thus  imprisoned,  and  galled,  and  hopeless  of  escape,  within  a 
constantly  narrowing  circle  of  domestic  joys,  narrowing  and 


38  LINDA;   OR,    THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

darkening  every  day,  lived  the  rich,  married  widower.  Why 
does  he  not  claim  the  glorious  prerogative  of  manhood,  and 
become  the  lord  of  his  household  ?  Alas  !  he  has  an  imbe- 
cility of  mind,  an  infirmity  of  purpose,  a  cowardliness  of 
heart,  that  makes  it  a  moral  impossibility.  He  can  no  more 
Bhake  oflF  that  woman's  yoke  from  his  neck  than  the  stream 
bound  by  winter's  cold  chains  can  shake  the  superincumbent 
weight  of  ice  from  its  bosom.  He  kneels  by  the  bedside  of 
the  sleeping  orphan — he  bui'ies  his  face  in  the  sheets  that 
cover  her — he  weeps  in  bitterness  of  soul — he  mourns  in  dust 
and  ashes  over  the  evil  he  has  brought  upon  her — he  prays 
God  to  forgive  him  his  blindness  and  folly — but  he  yields ! 
He  returns  in  silence  to  his  own  apartment,  and  lies  down  on 
his  wretched  couch. 

Nelly's  description  of  the  manner  in  which  Master  Robert 
passed  his  nights  was  fully  verified.  He  groaned  and  tumbled 
about,  and  bawled  out  to  his  mother  for  peppermint  and  pare- 
goric, and  the  tender  parent  rose  and  ministered  to  his  wants, 
and  tried  to  soothe  her  darling  to  sleep,  with  fond  maternal 
caresses,  unmindful  of  the  little  motherless  exile  in  the  dark, 
raftered  room. 


OP   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  Z9 


CHAPTER  in. 

While  the  internal  affairs  at  Mr.  Walton's  presented  so 
unhappy  an  aspect,  the  external  state  of  things  wore  an  ap- 
pearance of  manifest  improvement.  The  negro  cabins  were 
white-washed,  the  fences  repaired,  the  wheels  were  all  hum- 
ming and  buzzing,  the  shuttles  flying,  and  the  negroes 
kept  busy  from  early  morn  to  latest  eve.  The  traveller, 
gazing  on  the  luxuriant  woods,  and  catching  a  glimpse 
of  Pine  Grove,  with  its  broad-winged,  hospitable-looking 
dwelling-house — its  row  of  neat,  white  out-buildings  and 
well-trimmed  shade-trees — would  inquire  the  owner's  name, 
and  he  would  be  told  that  it  belonged  to  Mr.  Walton,  a  rich 
planter,  who  had  lately  married  a  rich  widow,  one  of  the  best 
managers  in  the  country,  who  would  soon  double  his  property 
and  turn  every  inch  of  his  land  into  gold  and  silver.  Mr. 
Walton  was  an  envied  man. 

Linda  became  reconciled  to  her  change  of  apartments,  and 
told  her  father  she  would  not  go  back  if  she  could — an  assu- 
rance which  relieved  his  mind  of  an  intolerable  burden.  The 
truth  was,  the  farther  she  was  removed  from  her  dreaded  step- 
mother, the  happier  she  was,  and  Nelly  was  become  as  warm 
a  friend  and  as  faithful  an  ally  as  ever  Aunt  Judy  had  been. 
She  permitted  her  to  sit  up  and  read  after  Mrs.  Walton  had 
sent  her  to  bed,  rolled  up  pieces  of  white  cloth,  and  sewing 
strips  of  hems  across  for  arms,  dressed  them  in  calico,  and 
called  them  dolls,  for  her  juvenile  nursery,  and  brought  her 
many  a  little  luxury,  surreptitiously  obtained,  of  which  her 
mistress  little  dreamed.  Her  windows,  too,  looked  out  upon 
a  beautiful  creek,  and  she  loved  to  watch  the  bright  waters 
sparkling  in  the  morning  sun-beams,  or  flowing  with  golden 


40  LINDA ;    OR,  THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

lu-st^e  when  gilt  by  his  evening  rays.  Her  spirit  went  out 
over  the  waters  like  the  dove  of  the  ark,  and  longed  to  find 
some  green  resting-place — some  little  flowery  isle — where  there 
was  nothing  but  love  and  peace. 

A  circumstance  soon  occurred  which  interrupted  the  mo- 
notonous tone  of  her  feelings,  and  called  forth  a  courage  and 
self-devotion  scarcely  paralleled  in  so  young  a  child.  Judy 
had  incurred  the  displeasure  of  Mrs.  Walton  to  such  a  degree 
that  she  declared  the  faithful  creature  should  be  sold.  A 
speculator  was  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  she  determined  to 
avail  herself  of  so  favourable  an  opportunity.  She  had  so 
completely  taken  the  reins  of  government  into  her  own  hands, 
that  her  laws  were  considered  immutable  as  the  Modes  and 
Persians.  Her  word  was  the  fiat  of  fate.  Nothing  was  left 
but  submission.  This  arrangement  had  been  kept  very  secret; 
but  Nelly,  who  had  received  some  stolen  knowledge  of  it,  told  it 
in  confidence  to  Linda  one  night  after  she  had  retired  to  bed. 

At  this  intelligence,  the  afi"ectionate  child  wrung  her  hands 
and  wept  bitterly.  She  had  learned  the  impotence  of  rage, 
and  no  longer  exclaimed,  as  she  would  have  done  in  months 
past,  "  She  shan't  be  sold,''  She  had  a  horrid  idea  of  these 
cruel  speculators,  and  would  a  thousand  times  rather  see  poor 
Judy  in  her  grave  than  sold  to  one  of  these  hard-hearted  men. 
She  must  save  her  own  kind  nurse  from  such  a  terrible  doom. 
But  how  ?  An  appeal  to  her  father  would  be  vain,  who  never 
acted  in  open  opposition  to  his  wife's  will.  After  her  parox- 
ysm of  tears  had  subsided,  she  lay  with  her  hands  clasped 
over  her  eyes  a  long  time,  revolving  great  schemes  in  her 
young  brain.  At  length,  leaning  forward  on  her  elbow,  she 
exclaimed — 

^'  To-morrow,  did  you  say,  Nelly  ?  Will  she  be  sold  to- 
morrow ?" 

^'  Yes — the  coming  to-morrow,  after  dinner ;  so  I  hear  mis- 
tress say/' 


or   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  41 

"  Nelly — ^please,  good  Nelly,  go  into  the  kitchen,  and  bring 
tti<  two  or  three  biscuits.  Don't  let  any  one  see  them,  but 
bring  them  to  me." 

"  Lord  bless  the  child  !  what  she  want  of  biscuit  this  timo 
o'  night?  Miss  Linda,  you  eat  supper — ^you  no  hungry 
now." 

^'  But  I  will  be  hungry  by  and  by,"  continued  Linda,  more 
earnestly ;  "  1  want  them — please,  Nelly." 

''  Miss  Lindy  cry  so  much,  make  her  feel  mighty  hollow — 
that  it.     Yes,  she  have  biscuit." 

And  Nelly  brought  some  and  laid  them  on  Linda's  bed. 
Linda  thanked  her  as  she  had  never  done  before  for  any  thin^ 
to  eat,  and  told  her  to  lie  down  and  go  to  sleep,  for  she  would 
not  trouble  her  any  more. 

"  What  for  Miss  Lindy  look  at  me  so  hard  ?"  said  Nelly, 
as  she  composed  herself  on  her  pallet ;  "  what  make  her  eye 
so  big  to-night  ?" 

Linda  had  a  great  purpose  in  her  heart,  and  her  eyes  did 
indeed  dilate  and  darken  while  silently  planning  its  execution. 
She  lay  gazing  out  into  the  still  moonlight  night,  so  beautiful, 
so  glorious  in  its  blue,  upward  depths ;  and  her  spirit  grew 
stronger  as  she  gazed.  The  loud  breathing  of  Nelly  alone 
broke  the  silence  of  the  hour.  She  knew  that  her  parents 
were  retired  to  rest,  and  every  thing  around  the  house  spoke 
the  slumbering  state  of  the  inmates.  Then  Linda  softly  rose, 
slipped  on  her  dress,  carefully  putting  the  biscuits  in  her 
pocket,  and,  taking  her  shoes  in  her  hand,  slid  down  the  back 
stairs.  The  doors  were  never  fastened  at  nighty  for  the  planter 
requires  no  guard  but  his  powerful  watch-dog,  who  roams  un- 
chained at  the  midnight  hour,  the  fierce  guardian  of  his  mas- 
ter's property  and  life.  Every  thing  seemed  to  favour  the 
little  heroine,  for  she  found  the  outside  door  partly  open,  and 
she  glided  through  noiselessly  as  the  moonbeams. 

Bruno,  the  noble  mastiff,  lay  close  by  the  threshold.     Lift- 


42  LINDA;    OR,  THE   YOUXG   PILOT 

ing  his  large,  magnificent  head,  he  was  about  to  let  out  a  vo- 
lume of  SH^und,  but  a  low  whisper  of  "  Hush,  Bruno,  hush  I" 
and  a  biscuit  dropped  suddenly  between  his  huge  paws,  con- 
ciliated the  Cerberus  of  the  household,  and  the  miniature 
Psyche  passed  on. 

"It  is  only  half  a  mile  through  the  woods,"  murmured 
Bhe.  "  It  is  light  as  day — God  won't  let  any  thing  hurt  me, 
for  I  read  in  the  Bible  to-night  that  he  takes  caro  of  the 
conies  in  the  hollows/' 

Now  this  was  the  great  purpose  Linda  had  conceived  and 
had  begun  to  execute.  There  was  a  planter  of  the  name  of 
Marshall,  who  lived  a  mile  and  a  half  from  them  by  the  car- 
riage road,  and  only  half  a  mile  measured  by  the  by-path 
through  the  woods.  He  was  their  nearest  neighbour,  and  had 
always  been  intimate  with  the  family  during  the-  life  of  the 
first  Mrs.  Walton  and  his  after  widowhood.  He  was  a  kind, 
benevolent,  good  man,  who  was  beloved  and  respected  by  all 
who  knew  him.  He  had  a  little  daughter  about  two  years  older 
than  Linda,  whom  she  was  sometimes  permitted  to  visit.  Mr. 
Marshall  had  visited  her  father  a  few  days  before,  to  talk  with 
him  about  a  new  teacher  who  was  coming  into  the  neighbour- 
hood, and  she  remembered  hearing  him  say  that  his  wife 
wanted  a  good  house-servant,  as  the  one  on  whom  she  chiefly 
relied  was  constantly  sick.  It  was  to  beg  Mr.  Marshall  to 
buy  Judy  before  the  cruel  speculator  arrived  to  consummate 
the  bargain,  that  Linda  had  started  on  her  lonely  expedition. 
She  knew  if  she  could  persuade  him  to  ofier  a  higher  price 
than  the  speculator,  her  mercenary  step-mother  would  accept 
the  ofi"er.  Then  Judy  would  have  a  kind  master — a  happy 
Qomc — and,  when  she  grew  big  herself  and  had  her  own 
money,  she  would  buy  her  back  again,  and  they  would  live 
together  all  their  lives. 

In  the  strength  of   her  pure  affection — her  disinterested 
*ove — the  child  walked  on  alone  into  the  deep  pine  woods. 


OF   THE    BELLE    CREOLE.  43 

Once  she  looked  back,  and  saw  her  mother's  tombstone  gleam- 
ing cold  and  white  in  the  solemn  splendour  of  the  night. 

^^  If  she  is  looking  down  from  heaven/'  thought  Linda, 
''  she  will  smile  on  me,  for  she  loved  Aunt  Judy,  too." 

Fast  and  faster  pattered  on  the  little  feet  through  the  deep- 
ening shadows,  now  and  then  emerging  into  a  glorious  burst 
of  light — then  again  involved  in  gloom.  She  felt  the  solemn 
loneliness  of  nature.  Her  heart  began  to  beat  quick  and 
quicker ;  she  started  as  the  night  wind  sighed  through  the  tall 
pines,  or  the  plaintive  lowing  of  cattle  came  in  melancholy 
music  to  her  ear.  She  thought  of  big,  runaway  negroes,  who 
might  be  hidden  in  the  woods,  and  who  might  rush  out  with 
long,  sharp  knives  and  kill  her  by  the  way-side.  The  old, 
broken  stumps  assumed  the  forms  of  wild  beasts,  crouching 
for  their  prey ;  and  the  narrow,  sandy  path  looked  fike  a  tall 
person  in  white  advancing  to  meet  her.  Fearless  as  she  was 
by  nature,  nameless  terrors  would  steal  upon  her  in  the  strange 
loneliness  of  her  pilgrimage.  She  remembered  the  "  Babes 
in  the  Wood,''  and  thought  if  she  had  a  little  brother  with 
her,  she  would  be  willing  to  lie  down  and  die,  and  let  Hobin 
redbreast  "  cover  them  up  carefully  with  leaves."  But  then 
Judy  would  be  sold  to  the  speculator.  This  spurred  her 
weary  feet,  and  she  ran  on  without  looking  to  the  right  or  the 
left.  The  large,  double  log-cabin  of  Mr.  Marshall  appeared 
in  sight.  A  new  fear  assailed  her.  How  was  she  to  gain 
admittance  if  they  were  all  asleep  ?  Then  the  watch-dog — 
would  a  biscuit  pacify  him  as  it  had  done  her  Bruno  ?  Trem- 
bling and  irresolute,  she  mounted  the  steps  of  a  block  placed 
in  the  front  of  the  yard  for  the  benefit  of  equestrians,  and 
looked  up  at  the  windows  all  flooded  by  the  silver  moonliglifc 
How  like  a  spirit  she  looked,  standing  there  in  her  light  dress, 
with  bare  head  and  arms,  looking  upward  so  earnestly. 
Surely  heaven  favoured  her  generous  design.  The  good  mas- 
ter of  the  house  had  not  yet  retired,  but  warf  sitting  at  «ne  of 
3 


4i  LINDA;    OR,  THE    YOUNG    PILOT 

those  "very  windows  enjoying  the  stillness  of  the  glorious 
iiiglit.  Ee  belield  the  little  figure  standing  on  the  block,  and 
knew  not  what  to  think.  Had  he  been  a  superstitious  man, 
he  would  certainly  have  taken  it  for  an  apparition.  Deter- 
mined to  ascertain  the  nature  of  the  sudden  and  fairy-like 
appearance,  he  came  forth,  and  stood  for  a  moment  under 
the  trees  without  approaching.     The  dog  sprang  up,  barking. 

"  Down,  Fido,  down  V  said  the  master,  in  a  gentle  voice, 
and  the  dog  again  crouched  at  his  feet.  ^'  Who's  there  ?" 
gaid  he,  in  an  encouraging  tone. 

''  It's  me  V  replied  a  little,  trembling  voice. 

"And  who  is  me?"  cried  Mr.  Marshall,  opening  the  gate 
with  eager  curiosity  to  ascertain  what  sprite  it  was  perched 
on  the  steps. 

"  It's  Linda,  little  Linda  Walton,"  was  the  answer,  and  the 
figure  sprang  from  the  block,  and  its  arras  were  clinging 
caressingly  round  him. 

"  Good  heavens  !  what  brought  the  child  here  alone  at  this 
time  of  night  ?  What's  the  matter  ?  Your  father — he's  not 
sickr' 

"No,  no — it's  nothing  but  Judy;  I  want  you  to  buy  poor 
Judy ;  please  buy  her,  and  I'll  pay  you  ten  times  over  when 
I  get  big.'' 

And  Linda,  breathless  and  excited,  told  him  the  tale  of 
Judy's  wrongs,  and  her  own  fears  and  hopes. 

"And  you  walked  through  the  woods  all  alone  to-night, 
just  to  save  a  negro  from  being  sold  to  a  cruel  master !"  ex- 
claimed the  benevolent  planter,  clasping  the  heroic  child  in 
his  arms,  and  wiping  away  the  tears  that  started  from  Lis 
eyes.  "  Yes,  I'll  buy  her,  if  I  have  to  pay  double  what  she 
is  worth  ;  I'll  buy  her,  if  I  have  to  pay  all  my  next  cotton 
crop  brings  to  purchase  her  !  She's  just  the  servant  I  want; 
but  you  shall  have  her  back  again  when  3-ou  claim  her,  for  all 
that." 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  45 

Linda  was  almost  wild  with  joj  at  the  success  of  her  mis- 
sion. She  cried  and  laughed,  and  jumped  simultaneously, 
entreated  Mr.  Marshall  to  come  very  early  in  the  morning, 
and  never  to  tell  anybody  that  she  had  asked  him  to  do  so.' 
Mr.  Marshall  promised,  though  he  longed  to  tell  every  one  of 
her  fearless  devotion,  and  bid  her  remain  quietly  a  few  mo- 
ments, till  he  brought  a  horse,  on  which  he  would  bear  her 
home  himself. 

How  happy  was  Linda,  riding  back  in  triumph  through  the 
same  path,  which  seemed  begirt  with  terrors  a  few  moments 
before  !  How  benignantly  the  moon  smiled  upon  her  !'  How 
lovingly  the  gale  kissed  her  cool  cheek  !  How  kindly  the 
arms  of  Mr.  Marshall  enfolded  her  !  How  he  cheered  her 
with  praises  and  words  of  tenderness  !  When  arrived  at  the 
termination  of  the  woods,  he  dismounted  and  led  his  young 
charge  silently  towards  the  house,  kissed  her  again,  and 
watched  her  as  she  approached  the  yet  open  door.  A  quick 
bark — another  biscuit  tossed — and  all  was  still. 

Linda  reached  her  chamber  unseen  and  uninterrupted. 
Nelly  was  snoring  more  profoundly  than  ever.  Every  thing 
was  just  as  she  had  left  it.  Linda  crept  into  bed,  chilled  from 
her  exposure  to  the  night  air,  but  her  heart  glowing  with 
gratitude  and  joy.  She  could  not  sleep  ;  her  soul  Wiis  magni- 
fied within  her;  she  felt  bigger,  older,  better;  she  loved  "the 
world  a  great  deal  better,  since  there  was  such  a  good  man  in 
it  as  Mr.  Marshall.  She  almost  envied  Aunt  Judy  her  happy 
home.  Full  of  sweet,  happy  thoughts,  it  was  almost  morning 
before  she  closed  her  eyelids,  and  then  bright  visions,  sent  by 
the  guardian  cherubim,  hovered  round  her  couch. 


16  LINDA;    OR,  THE   lOUNG    TILOT 


CHAPTER   lY. 

Mr.  Marshall  redeemed  his  promise;  and  Mrs.  Waltou, 
without  any  suspicion  of  Linda's  agency,  accepted  the  liberal 
offer  of  her  neighbour.  Judy,  who  had  been  anticipating  the 
most  dreaded  fate  of  the  slave,  went  on  her  way  rejoicing, 
blessing  her  young  mistress,  though  unconscious  of  the  great 
debt  she  owed  her,  and  wishing  she  was  going,  too. 

An  event  occurred  at  this  time  which  had  a  great  influence 
on  Linda's  happiness.  A  school  was  opened  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood, in  which  Master  Robert  and  herself  were  entered 
as  pupils.  Mrs.  Walton  would  gladly  have  kept  Linda  at 
home,  sewing  on  the  "  never-ending,  still  beginning"  patch- 
work, but  the  current  of  public  opinion  set  too  strongly 
against  such  a  thing.  She  could  tyrannize  at  home,  and  the 
world  would  never  interfere ;  but  this  was  out-door  business, 
and  mankind  would  sit  in  judgment  upon  her,  if  she  sent  her 
own  son,  and  debarred  her  step-daughter  from  the  same  privi- 
lege. 

The  teacher  was  a  gentleman  of  the  name  of  Longwood,  a 
native  of  the  granite  hills  of  New  England.  Being  threat- 
ened by  a  pulmonary  affection,  he  had  sought  the  more  genial 
latitude  of  the  South,  and,  being  destitute  of  fortune,  was 
obliged  to  pay  his  expenses  by  the  exercise  of  his  talents.  He 
came  highly  recommended  as  an  elegant  classical  scholar,  a 
thorough  mathematician,  and  an  accomplished  linguist.  The 
planters  in  the  vicinity,  who  united  to  pay  his  salary,  as  is 
customary  at  the  South,  were  induced  to  offer  him  higher 
wages  than  his  predecessors  had  received,  on  account  of  his 
supi  rior  recommendations. 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  47 

The  night  previous  to  his  installation  in  the  duties  of  his 
office,  Mr.  Walton  invited  him  to  supper,  as  Mrs.  Walton 
wished  to  give  him  particular  directions  about  th^  manage- 
ment of  her  son.  Linda  felt  the  deepest  curiosity,  chastened 
by  still  deeper  awe,  respecting  her  future  instructor.  She 
awaited  his  entrance  as  she  would  that  of  a  superior  being, 
believing  that  he  who  was  to  open  to  her  the  gate  of  know- 
ledge must  be  like  one  of  those  oriental  genii  of  whom  her 
mother  used  to  tell  her. 

The  tall,  spare  figure  of  Mr.  Longwood,  his  pale,  high  fore- 
head, prominent  nose,  and  small,  deep-set  eyes,  made  a  very 
difi'erent  impression  from  the  stern,  majestic  image  her  fancy 
had  drawn.  There  was  an  appearance  of  physical  debility 
about  him,  with  which  his  slender  voice  harmonized  well ; 
but  there  was  a  restless,  glancing  fire  in  his  small,  gray  eyes, 
that  spoke  great  mental  energy  and  enthusiasm.  No  one 
could  be  in  his  company  half  an  hour  without  feeling  that  he 
was  a  complete  original — a  strange  mixture  of  learning  and 
pedantry,  shrewdness  and  simplicity,  poetry,  phrenology,  and 
syntax.  It  was  dubious  whether  he  was  in  earnest  or  jest — • 
whether  he  wished  to  excite  mirth  or  produce  gravity — whether 
the  quick  sparkle  of  his  eye  was  the  result  of  drollery  or 
enthusiastic  feeling. 

Robert  stared  upon  him  unrecedingly,  trying  to  discover 
whether  he  was  a  man  to  be  feared  or  not. 

^'  Your  son  has  the  organ  of  language  very  strongly  deve- 
loped, madam,"  said  he,  placing  his  hand  on  the  boy's  head, 
which  was  rudely  shaken  off;  ^'  great  fulness  about  the  eyes. 
Il  fait  les  (/rands  yeux,  as  they  say  in  French — organ  of  vene- 
ration much  depressed ;  large  self-esteem  j  animal  propensitiea 
predominant;  he  must  avoid  temptation;  Yirtm  est  vitium 
fugere — to  shun  vice  is  a  virtue '^ 

The  offending  hand  was  again  placed  on  the  boy^s  head,  iu 
the  enthusiasm  of  a  phrenological  examination. 


i8  LINDA;    OR,  THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

"Let  go  of  my  head  I"  cried  out  the  subject;  "you  are 
sticking  your  thumbs  in  me.     Let  go,  I  say  V 

"  The  organ  of  combativeness  is  also  strikingly  developed/'' 
continued  the  gentleman,  pursuing  with  his  eye  the  regions 
which  had  eluded  his  touch.  "  Pardon  me,  madam — I  always 
tudy  the  heads  of  my  pupils.  '  The  proper  study  of  mankind 
is  man.'  By  this  means,  I  arrive  at  a  true  estimate  of  charac- 
ter, and  know  osactly  what  powers  to  bring  into  action.  Your 
son  is  a  study,  madam — a  great  study.  I  shall  devote  myself 
to  the  task  of  developing  his  intellectual  and  spiritual  organs, 
Adjuta  me,  quo  id  jiat  facilius — aid  me,  that  that  may  be 
done  more  easily.'^ 

Mrs.  Walton  was  somewhat  propitiated  by  his  remark,  that 
her  son  was  a  great  study.  Bewildered  by  such  a  display  of 
erudition,  she  for  the  first  time  felt  ashamed  of  Robert's  neg- 
lected jntellect.  Of  limited  education  and  low  attainments 
herself,  she  was  somewhat  dazzled  by  the  brilliant  mosaic  of 
his  conversation. 

"I  know  nothing  of  phrenology,  sir,"  said  she;  "but  I 
dar<-:  say  you  will  find  Robert  as  smart,  naturally,  as  any  boy 
of  his  age.  He  is  very  backward,  and  I  am  afraid  will  give 
you  some  trouble.  I  have  petted  and  indulged  him  a  great 
deal,  as  he  is  my  only  one.  I  want  you  not  to  be  too  strict 
with  him  a^t  first,  as  he  has  never  been  used  to  restraint,  and 
I  am  confident  he  could  not  bear  it.'' 

"Xes  talents  produisent  suivant  la  culture — talents  yield 
according  to  their  cultivation — as  Marmontel  justly  observes, 
madam.  ^  Just  as  the  twig  is  bent  the  tree's  inclined,'  as 
Pope  very  sensibly  remarks.  My  mode  of  discipline,  madam, 
is  conyruentcm  naturae — agreeably  to  nature — I  endeavour  to 
govern  by  her  immutable  laws — but  it  is  a  very  mysterious 
process.  Qualis  sit  animus,  ipse  animus  nescit — the  mind 
Itself  knows  not  what  the  mind  is — as  Cicero  very  pertinently 
remarks      '  V/hat  a  creature  is  man! — a  worm — a  god!— 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  49 

midway  from  notliing  to  the  Deity/  as  Young  feelingly  ob- 
serves/' 

'^I  am  pleased  that  you  agree  with  me  in  opinion,  sir,'' 
said    Mrs.   Walton,   catching  a  faint  gleam  of  his  meaning 
through  his  thick-coming  quotations.     "  You  do  not  use  cor 
poral  punishment,  I  presume.'' 

"  Not  until  reason  is  impotent,  madam.  La  conscience  nons 
averiit  en  ami,  avant  de  nous  puni  en  juge — conscience  warns 
us  as  a  friend  before  punishing  as  a  judge.  I  endeavour  to 
imitate  the  great  vicegerent  of  Jehovah.  I  enlarge  venera- 
tion, diminish  self-esteem,  depress  the  animal  propensities, 
and  develope  the  moral  sentiments — a  great  work,  madam — 
Hand  equidem  tali  me  dignor  lionore — I  am  not  worthy  of 
such  an  honour — as  Virgil  modestly  remarks." 

"  Why  don't  you  talk  English,  like  other  folks  ?"  interro- 
gated E,obert.  "  What  makes  you  mix  up  all  sorts  of  words 
together  in  that  way  ?  You  an't  going  to  learn  me  that 
fashion,  I  tell  you." 

The  mother  smiled  at  her  boy's  wit ;  but  the  incorrigible 
schoolmaster  gravely  answered  : 

^^MitliridateSj  duorumet  viginti  gentium  rex^  totidem  Unguis 
jura  dixit — Mithridates,   king    of   twenty-two   nations,  pro 
nounced  judicial  decisions  in  as  many  languages." 

Daring  this  conversation,  Linda  had  remained  immovable 
■with  wonder.  She  would  have  felt  crushed  by  such  a  torrent 
of  learning,  had  not  the  kind  sparkle  of  his  eye  reassured  her. 
Mr.  Walton,  not  willing  that  she  should  remain  entirely  in 
the  back -ground,  took  hold  of  her  hand  and  drew  her  towards 
Mr.  Longwood. 

"  Here  is  another  little  pupil  of  yours — what  do  you  think 
of  her  phrenological  development." 

The  face  of  the  tall  pedant  lighted  up  with  a  kind  of  ec- 
stasy as  he  passed  his  slender  fingers  through  the  child's  short 
brown  curls — ^'  Splendid  !"  he  exclaimed ;  ^^  quite  an  e(|ui« 


50  LINDA;    OR,  THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

librium— perfect  adaptation  of  all  the  organs  to  each  other — 
benevolencej  reverence,  ideality,  conscientiousness — Oh!  far- 
mo8a  puella — ^what  pleasure  shall  I  enjoy  in  instructing  thee? 
T  will  make  thee  a  ray  of  the  sun  of  science — a  flower  of  tho 
garden  of  literature.  ^'  Early,  bright,  chaste  as  morning 
iew,'  as  Young  feelingly  remarks.     Madam,  your  daughter  is 

beautiful  study.'' 

"  She  is  my  step-daughter,"  replied  the  lady,  in  a  freezing 
tone.  ^^  You  will  have  to  use  very  strict  measures  with  her, 
a  very  self-willed,  passionate  child." 

^'  I  have  always  found  gentle  measures  most  successful 
with  her,''  Mr.  Walton  ventured  to  assert.  ''  She  has  a  re- 
markably affectionate  disposition,  and  does  not  like  to  offend 
those  she  loves." 

"  Supper  is  ready,  Mr.  Walton,"  cried  the  step-mother, 
with  a  lifting  of  her  white  eye-brows,  that  her  husband  under- 
stood but  too  well ;  ^^  it  has  been  announced  some  time." 

Ptobert,  as  usual,  took  the  lead  to  the  dining-room,  and  had 
already  provided  himself  with  a  large  piece  of  cake  before  the 
guest  and  family  were  seated. 

"  Your  son  has  the  organ  of  alimentiveness  most  wonder- 
fully developed,  madam,"  said  Mr.  Long  wood,  gazing  in  ap- 
parent admiration  on  the  young  glutton.  ^^  Great  care  must 
be  taken  lest  its  power  become  weakened  by  too  vehement 
use.  Nulla  res  est,  quae  perferre  possit  continuam  lahorem — 
there  is  nothing  which  can  endure  perpetual  labour — as  Quin- 
tilian  excellently  observes." 

Mr.  Walton,  who,  in  spite  of  the  imbecility  of  mind  ho 
displayed  in  yielding  to  the  dominion  of  a  despotic  wife,  was 
a  man  of  some  intellect  and  shrewdness,  was  exceedingly 
amused  with  his  new  acquaintance.  He  saw  that  he  had  a 
just  appreciation  of  character,  and  that  Master  llobert  would 
be  in  excellent  hands.  He  was  convinced,  too,  that  there  was 
more  method  than  he  had  at  lirst  imagined,  in  his  litei-ary  mad- 


OP   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  61 

ness,  and  that  his  were  not  random  shafts.  There  was  some- 
thing fascinating  in  the  sparkle  of  his  gray  eye,  flashing  from 
object  to  object  with  the  rapidity  of  lightning.  It  seemed  a 
burning  spark  kindled  from  the  spirit  fires.  He  expatiated 
on  the  bounties  of  the  hospitable  board,  of  which,  however, 
he  sparingly  partook. 

"This  buttermilk,''  said  the  enthusiast,  "is  'white  as  the 
foam  upon  the  wave,'  as  Ossian  beautifully  observes.  The 
scene  reminds  me  of  a  land  '  flowing  with  milk  and  honey.' 
Je  puis  plus  de  cas  de  Vaheille^  qui  tirent  le  mieldes  JieurSj  que 
la  femme  qui  en  fait  les  bouquets — I  value  more  the  bee  who 
draws  the  honey  from  the  flowers  than  the  woman  who  makes 
bouquets  of  them — an  excellent  French  proverb.  You  seem 
a  happy  man,  sir.  Domus  plena  servis — a  house  full  of  ser- 
vants. Dives  agres — rich  in  land.  Duicissima  uxor — the 
gentlest  of  wives.  And  children  '  like  corner-stones,  polished 
after  the  similitude  of  a  palace,'  as  David  piously  remarks." 

The  negroes  grinned  at  each  other  behind  the  chairs,  at 
the  odd  manners  of  the  eccentric  gentleman.  They  did  not 
understand  his  language,  but  they  thought  him  "mighty 
funny,"  and  wondered  how  the  white  folks  couM  keep  fk-om 
laughing. 

It  may  be  supposed  that  a  man  of  such  a  peculiiir  tempera- 
ment would  be  incapable  of  performing  with  dignity  the  du- 
ties which  were  required  of  him.  But  never  was  there  a  more 
efiicient,  faithful,  devoted  teacher  than  Aristides  Longwood. 
With  a  patience  that  never  wearied,  an  energy  that  never 
flagged,  and  an  enthusiasm  that  never  grew  cold,  he  set  him- 
self to  his  daily  tasks.  With  characteristic  prodigality,  he 
had  inscribed  on  the  walls  of  the  school-room  innumerable 
Latin  mottoes,  accompanied  with  translations.  With  a  kmd 
of  wand,  which  he  carried  in  his  right  hand,  he  would  direct 
thvi  attention  of  the  pupil  to  each  golden  aphorism,  made 
more  impressive  by  the  two-fold  garb  in  which  they  w^ro 


62  LINDA;    OR;    THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

clothed.  The  man  who  could  breathe  a  spark  of  Promethean 
fii'e  into  the  anivialized  nature  of  Eobert  Graham,  must  have 
possessed  a  magician's  power.  That  man  was  Aristides  Long- 
wood.  At  first  the  boy  resisted  his  laws,  refused  to  study, 
and  attempted  to  convert  the  school-room  into  a  scene  of  an- 
archy and  misrule.  After  trying  in  vain  every  gentle,  per- 
suasive, and  rational  appeal  to  his  conscience,  his  heart,  mind, 
and  soul,  he  made  use  of  the  argumentmn  ad  hominem,  which 
was  never  applied  save  as  a  last  resort.  Robert  struggled 
manfully  ;  but  it  was  astonishing  what  muscular  power  there 
was  in  those  long,  slender  fingers,  when  the  will  was  put  forth. 
He  never  took  his  magnetic  eyes  from  Robert's  face  during 
the  operation. 

^' '  Spare  the  rod  and  spoil  the  child,'  as  Solomon  sapiently 
remarks,'^  repeated  Aristides,  when  the  first  stroke  descended ; 
'*  Quod  adest  memento  componere  acquis — remember  to  make 
a  proper  use  of  the  present  moment — as  Horace  pithily  ob- 
serves,'' continued  he,  while  the  second  and  thii'd  blow  was 
administered;  "Surget  Jiumo  juvenis — the  youth  rises  from 
the  ground — as  Ovid  most  appositely  remarks." 

Here  Robert  described  involuntarily  the  segment  of  a  circle, 
and  cried  out  vociferously  for  mercy. 

"  ^  Mercy  is  twice  blessed — it  blesseth  him  that  gives  and 
him  that  receives,'  as  Sliakspeare  nobly  expresses  it,"  ex- 
claimed the  teacher,  gently  seating  his  conquered  foe.  Then 
turning  to  Linda,  who  wept  bitterly  over  Robert's  disgrace 
and  sufferings,  notwithstanding  the  petty  wrongs  she  had  en- 
dured from  him,  ^^Htnc  illuc  laclirymai — whence  these  tears  ? 
Oil !  puella  jjurissiina — the  tree  never  yields  forth  its  fragrance 
till  the  bark  is  penetrated, — the  shell  must  be  broken  before 
the  nut  is  exhumed." 

Mr.  Longwood  was  kinder  and  gentler  to  Robert  the  re- 
mainder of  the  evening  than  he  had  been  previous  to  tne 
flagellation,  assisting  him  in  his  lessons  and  encoui'aging  him 


OP  THE  BELLE  CREOLE.  53 

with  hopes  of  success.  What  was  passing  in  the  boy^s  mind 
could  not  be  told,  but  he  was  e\ideutly  reaching  a  great  crisis. 

When  Mrs.  Walton  learned  the  astonishing  fact  that  Mr. 
Longwood  had  dared  to  whip  her  son,  in  spite  of  her  prohibi- 
tioUj  she  was  pale  with  passion.  She  declared  he  never  should 
set  his  foot  in  the  school-room  again ;  that  he  should  know 
whom  he  had  to  deal  with,  and  not  insult  her  and  her  so^ 
with  impunity. 

"I  will  go  again,"  cried  Robert,  fixing  his  black  eyes 
steadily  upon  hers.  "If  you  had  punished  me  before,  I 
wouldn't  be  the  big  fool  I  am.  But  I'm  tired  of  being  a  fool ; 
I'm  tired  of  doing  nothing  but  eat  and  play.  There's  Sam 
Marshall,  not  a  bit  older  than  I  am,  and  he  knows  a  heap 
more  than  I.  I  like  Mr.  Longwood,  and  I'm  not  going  to 
stay  home  })ecause  he  whipped  me." 

Mrs.  Walton  was  astounded.  The  fire  she  had  been  so  long 
smothering  in  her  son's  breast  was  beginning  to  blaze,  and 
she  could  not  quench  the  kindling  flame.  Ambition  was 
mounting  from  the  ashes  of  humiliation.  From  this  hour, 
Mr.  Longwood  maintained  the  empire  he  had  acquired.  He 
never  again  had  occasion  to  exercise  in  his  behalf  the  magic 
wand.  The  people  wondered,  and  said  that  a  miracle  had 
been  wrought. 

If  such  was  the  influence  he  had  gained  over  Robert,  what 
might  not  be  expected  from  Linda,  with  her  bright  intelli- 
gence, generous  impulses,  and  yearning  desires  for  instruction  ? 
Oh  !  what  a  spring  was  given  to  that  elastic  spirit,  held  down 
so  long  by  such  a  leaden  weight !  She  felt  as  if  she  wera 
living  in  a  new  world — such  streams  of  light  were  flowing 
into  her  mind.  Well  might  her  teacher  say  that  she  was  a 
"  beautiful  study,"  for  she  drank  in  instruction  as  sweetly  as 
the  flowers  drink  in  the  dews  of  evening ;  and  gently  as  the 
dews  come  down  did  he  temper  his  knowledge,  so  as  to  meet 
the  capacities  of  her  young  understanding. 


54  LINDA;    OR,   THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

As  it  was  a  long  walk  from  her  father's  house,  Linda  carried 
her  dinner  in  a.  little  basket,  and  sitting  under  the  shade  of 
the  trees,  with  a  book  in  one  hand,  she  accomplished  her 
noon-day  repast.  Mr.  Longwood  often  remained,  too,  for  the 
pleasure  of  being  with  his  favourite,  when  he  could  lay  aside 
the  character  of  the  master,  in  the  friend.  It  was  an  amus- 
ing contrast,  to  see  the  tall,  slender  figure,  and  pale,  peculiar 
face  of  the  teacher,  by  the  side  of  the  little,  blooming  girl, 
both  seated  under  the  same  tree,  in  a  state  of  perfect  equality 
and  freedom.  When  conversing  with  her,  he  endeavoured  to 
check  his  overwhelming  tide  of  quotations,  but  the  habit  had 
become  such  a  necessity  of  his  being,  it  was  with  difficulty  re- 
strained. 

"  You  must  never  forget,  my  little  friend,"  he  would  say, 
his  deep-set  eyes  changing  their  restless  expression  to  one  of 
tender  earnestness,  ^'  that  what  you  are  to  be  hereafter,  you 
must  begin  to  be  now.  The  smallest  seed  committed  to  the 
ground  contains  the  elements  of  the  future  tree  or  plant.  If 
70U  want  to  be  an  angel  in  heaven,  you  must  begin  to  plume 
your  wings  now,  for  it  takes  a  long  while  to  soar  so  high. 
Begin  now,  and  be  not  afraid  of  fulling.  Nee  gemere  aen'a 
ccssabit  turtur  ah  ulmo — nor  shall  the  turtle  dove  cease  to  coo 
from  the  lofty  elm — as  Virgil  sweetly  remarks.  By  and  by 
you  will  g^ow  stronger,  and  your  soul  will  bear  you  up  higher. 
^  You  will  mount  with  wings  as  eagles,'  as  the  Psalmist  glori- 
ously remarks." 

Once,  when  a  storm  was  rising,  and  seeing  that  she  sat 
without  fear,  watching  its  approach,  he  led  her  mind  to  the 
sublimity  of  nature,  teaching  her  to  admire  the  grandeur,  as 
well  as  the  beauty  of  creation. 

"  How  grand  is  the  forest,"  said  he,  "  when  the  storm  is 
rolling  over  it.  Lsevius  ventis  agitatur  ingens  pinu>< — the 
great  pine  is  more  violently  shaken  by  the  winds — as  Horace 
charmingly  remarks.     I  love  to  see  the  forest  trees,  in  their 


OP   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  55 

green  brotlierhood,  mingling  their  branches  together.  Bui  I 
am  not  one  of  them:  'I  was  a  lovely  tree  in  thy  presence, 
but  the  blast  of  the  mountain  came  and  laid  my  green  head 
low/  as  Ossian  feelingly  observes.  Oh  !  j)ueUa  carissima — 
the  strength  of  my  youth  is  departed." 

To  the  opening  mind  of  Linda  the  words  of  her  teache 
were  fertilizing  "  as  streams  of  living  waters  fresh  from  the 
fountain  of  intelligence." 


.    CHAPTER  V. 

Thus  time  glided  onward.  Notwithstanding  Mrs.  "Walton's 
bitter  prejudices  against  the  learned  fool,  the  crazy  fool,  as 
she  invariably  called  him,  his  star  remained  in  the  ascendant. 
She  never  forgave  him  the  superior  influence  he  had  acquired 
over  the  mind  of  her  son;  though,  through  that  influence, 
the  boy  was  every  day  becoming  more  intelligent,  ambitious, 
and  refined.  His  intellect  possessed  a  vitality  which  triumphed 
over  the  deadening  process  of  self-indulgence,  to  which  he 
had  been  subjected.  But  his  heart ! — that  unweeded  garden, 
go  long  left  to  rank  and  poisonous  luxuriance, — was  the  wilder- 
ness becoming  cultivated,  and  beginning  to  blossom  with  the 
rose  ?     The  answer  may  be  read  in  after-scenes. 

A  great  grief  was  preparing  for  Linda.  The  slender  frame 
of  Aristides  Longwood  gradually  assumed  an  appearance  of 
greater  debility.  His  shoulders  drooped  more  heavily;  hi 
eyes,  though,  if  possible,  brighter  than  ever,  sunk  deeper  in 
their  large  sockets ;  and  a  bright,  warning  spot  burned  every 
evening  on  his  pale  and  sallow  cheek ;  a  hollow  cough  often 
interrupted  his  eloquent  instructions.  It  was  but  too  evident 
that  "  the  fine  gold  of  the  temple"  was  becoming  dim.     He 


56  LINDA;   OR,   THE  YOUNG  PILOT 

was  advised  to  relinquish  his  situation,  and  seek  the  more 
genial  climate  of  Cuba.  It  was  a  sad  trial  to  him,  for  strong 
and  tender  was  the  tie  that  bound  his  lonely  heart  to  the 
lovely  and  affectionate  child. 

The  last  day  he  was  with  his  pupils,  after  taking  leave  of 
them  all,  in  a  kind  and  solemn  manner,  he  turned  to  Linda, 
who  lingered  behind,  lost  in  sorrow  that  refused  consolation. 

'^  Kum  id  lachrymat  virgo  ? — Does  the  maid  weep  on  that 
account?  as  Terence  pathetically  remarks,"  said  the  melted 
aphorist,  his  voice  trembling  with  emotion.  ^'I  grieve  to 
leave  thee,  0  puella  pulchrissima,  for  thou  hast  entwined 
thyself  around  my  heart  like  a  vernal  garland;  and  I  shall 
carry  away  with  me  the  remembrance  of  its  sweetness.  Coehinij 
lion  animurrij  mutant^  qid  trans  mare  corrunt — they  change 
their  sky,  but  not  their  soul,  who  cross  the  sea,  as  Horace 
feelingly  observes.  Not  even  the '  sky,  but  only  the  moun- 
tains and  the  plains — the  same  heavens  will  bend  above  us — 
the  same  glorious  sun  and  moon  will  shine  upon  us,  and  the 
same.  in\'isible  atmosphere  flow  around.  Forget  not  my  in- 
structions, virgo  juvenissima.  Remember  Nihil  est  virtute 
formosius — ^nothing  is  more  beautiful  than  virtue,  as  Cicero 
pointedly  remarks.  Let  the  beautiful  developments  of  thy 
character  continue  to  unfold.  Let  ideality,  reverence,  and 
benevolence  be  still  the  crowning  graces  of  thy  youth.  As 
for  me,  I  am  passing  away  like  a  shadow,  and  shall  return  no 
more  :  the  traveller  to  the  sea-girt  isle  will  pause  at  my  lonely 
grave,  and  exclaim,  in  the  mournful  language  of  Ossian, 
*  Narrow  is  thy  dwelling  now — dark  the  place  of  thy  abode  ! 
Four  stones,  with  their  heads  of  moss,  are  the  only  memorials 
of  thee.' " 

Linda  never  forgot  the  accents  of  that  solemn,  touching 
voi<j|g,  as  it  uttered  farewell ! — the  tender  benediction  breathed 
upon  her,  the  trembling  hand  laid  with  prophetic  earnestness 
c^  her  bending  head.     She  treasuicd  them  as  holy  memories, 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  57 

Whicli  time  never  could  efface.  Wave  after  wave  might  flow 
over  them,  but,  like  letters  cut  deep  in  the  marble,  they  could 
not  be  washed  away.  Even  if  the  moss  gathered  about  them, 
how  soon  the  hand  of  affection  would  remove  the  green  fret- 
work, and  the  characters  appear  in  all  their  original  distinct- 
ness ! 

The  aspirations  of  young  Robert  were  no  longer  to  be  kept 
down.     He  must  go  to  college.     Charlotteville  was  selected  as 
the  institution  most  favourable  for  the  development  of  the 
young  Alabamian's  independent  character.     Mrs.  Walton  was 
obliged  to  yield  *to  Eobert's  imperious  decision,  though  sho 
thought  there  was  no  necessity  to  send  him  so  far  in  search 
of  advantages  he  could  so  well  dispense  with.     He  was  rich- 
he  was  smart  enough  already,  and  would  have  influence  enough 
in  society.     She  felt  the  separation  severely,  for  this  woman, 
so  cold,  so  hard  to  others,  so  destitute  of  loving-kindness  and 
tender  charity,  had  one  soft  place  in  her  heart;  there  was  one 
spot  where  the  ice  was  thawed-one  point  where  the  iron  was 
fused  :  she  loved  her  son.     He  was  a  part  of  herself,  and  her 
love  partook  of  the  despotism  and  selfishness  of  her  character. 
When  Mr.  Walton  expressed  his  desire  to  send  Linda  to  a 
boardmg-school,  he  expected  great  opposition  on  her  part,  and 
approached  the  subject  with  fear  and  trembling.     Contrary  to 
his  expectations,  she  raised  but  few  objections.     Intent  upon 
a  scheme  which  she  was  determined  to  put  in  execution  in 
due  time,  she  thought,  if  Robert  was  determined  to  be  a  tho- 
roughly educated  man,  it  was  well  that  Linda  should  be  placed 
on  an  equal  footing  with  him.     She  was  resolved  to  unite  them 
m  marriage  as  soon  as  they  should  return  from  their  respec 
tive  schools,  and  thus  keep  the  large  fortune  of  Linda  from 
passing  mto  a  stranger's  hand.     It  was  necessary  to  impart 
her  plans  to  Robert  before  his  departure 

He  had  been  three  years  under  the  tuition  of  Aristides 
Longwood,  and  was  consequently  seventeen  years  of  age.    Ho 


6S  LINDA  ;   OR,  THE  YOUNG  PILOT 

was  old  enough  to  understand  his  own  interests,  and  to  endea* 
vour  to  preserve  them  during  his  four  years'  absence.  But 
ghe  knew  enough  of  his  disposition  not  to  hazard  a  command- 
ing tone.  She  appealed  to  his  selfishness,  and  asked  him  if 
he  did  not  think  it  would  be  a  splendid  project  to  secure  the 
possession  of  the  magnificent  Louisiana  plantation  by  the 
hand  of  his  young  step-sister,  who  promised  moreover  to  be  a 
beautiful  and  accomplished  woman.  By  thus  judiciously  con- 
sulting his  judgment,  instead  of  enforcing  his  obedience,  Mrs. 
Walton  easily  gained  her  son's  concurrence.  His  mother's  les- 
sons had  not  been  lost  upon  him,  and  Linda  was  an  uncommonly 
pretty  girl,  now  entering  her  twelfth  year.  Mrs.  "Walton  hesi- 
tated upon  the  expediency  of  telling  Linda  her  future  destiny ; 
but  she  decided  at  length  that  she  was  too  young,  and  that 
there  was  no  danger  of  her  forming  any  other  engagements 
before  she  should  return  to  her  home  again.  Bobert,  there- 
fore, was  to  be  perfectly  silent  on  the  subject,  endeavouring 
only  to  leave  a  pleasing  impression  on  the  heart  of  his  young 
bride  elect.  Bobert  was  vain  of  his  person,  for  he  was  grow- 
ing up  a  tall,  handsome  youth,  vnth  large,  commanding  black 
eyes,  though  they  had  the  same  wicked  look  from  which  Linda 
shrunk  the  first  day  she  beheld  him.  After  the  conversation 
with  his  mother,  those  large,  wicked,  black  eyes  seemed  con- 
stantly fixed  on  Linda.  He  had  appropriated  her  to  himself, 
and  she  all  at  once  acquired  consequence  and  interest  in  his 
estimation. 

"  What  makes  you  stare  at  me  so,  Bobert  ?"  said  Linda, 
embarrassed  by  his  unreceding  scrutiny. 

"  I  was  thinking,  Linda,  what  a  pretty  girl  you  would  be 
four  years  from  this  time,  when  I  come  back  from  college, 
wearing  the  first  honours,  which  I  am  determined  to  gain. 
Labor  vincit  omnm,  as  Aristides  would  sapiently  quote.'' 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  mention  Mr.  Longwood,"  replied 
Lmda,  softening  at  the  remembrance  of  her  beloved  instructor, 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  59 

and  perliaps  not  displeased  that  Robert  thought  her  pretty. 
"  If  you  follow  his  advice,  you  will  make  a  good  man  as  well 
as  a  great  scholar.  Oh,  how  many  things  may  happen,  Ro- 
bert, before  we  meet  again  !  It  is  a  long,  long  time  to  look 
forward — four  years  V 

Robert  laughed  at  the  solemn  emphasis  she  put  upon  the 
word  long,  and  said  they  would  pass  soon  enough.  How  short 
a  time  it  seemed  to  look  back  since  they  first  went  to  Aristides* 
school,  and  yet  three  years  had  gone  by !  He  proposed  to 
visit  the  school-room  and  its  shading  grove,  and  Linda  gladly 
consented.  She  looked  round  the  walls,  illumined  by  the 
well-known  golden  aphorisms ;  she  wandered  through  the 
paths  where  his  hand  so  oft  had  led  her ;  she  sat  down  under 
the  trees  that  had  often  bent  over  them  both,  and  almost  ima- 
gined she  heard  his  earnest  voice  in  the  passing  breeze ;  she 
thought  of  him,  the  lone  dweller  of  the  sea-girt  isle,  perhaps 
of  a  lonelier,  darker  home,  and  she  wept.  She  felt  grateful 
to  Robert  for  not  moqjving  her  sensibility;  then  her  gratitude 
flowed  back  to  the  source  of  Robert's  regeneration,  and  again 
she  blessed  the  memory  of  her  eccentric  but  holy-minded 
teacher. 

Robert  and  Linda  parted,  and  much  indeed  occurred  ere 
they  met  again. 


60  LINPA;    on,  THE   YOUNG   PILOT 


CHAPTER  VI. 

'  Linda  a  traveller  ! — It  was  an  era  in  her  young  existence — 
never  having  gone  beyond  the  limits  of  her  own  neighbour- 
hood. Her  father  was  the  companion  of  her  journey,  and  no 
longer  frozen,  benumbed  by.  the  presence  of  his  wife,  the 
fountain  of  his  heart  began  to  play  once  more,  and  throw 
out  the  bright  waters  to  the  sun.  Linda  had  forgotten  how 
pleasant,  how  even  gay  her  father  could  be ;  she  had  been  so 
Ions:  accustomed  to  see  him  in  a  state  of  mental  and  moral 
paralysis.  Ah,  Mr.  Walton ! — these  are  silver  days  in  the 
dark  cycle  of  your  present  existence.  Your  young  daughter 
is  at  your  side,  and  you  are  not  afraid  to  show  how  much  you 
love  her.  You  will  read  no  reproof  in  that  blue^  smiling  sky, 
those  green,  rolling  woods.  Nature  is  a  kind  mother,  and 
fills  with  sweet  thoughts  and  pure  affections  the  heart  that 
yields  to  her  maternal  influence. 

Linda  wondered  she  could  ever  have  felt  unhappy  in  a 
world  so  beautiful,  with  a  father  so  kind,  a  spirit  so  elastic, 
and  a  future  so  bright  with  hope.  Even  the  image  of  her 
formidable  step-mother  was  so  softened  by  distance  as  to  be 
deprived  of  half  its  terrors.  The  fearful  scourge — the  weary- 
ing patch-work — the  dark,  raftered  room — the  lonely  moon- 
light pilgrimage — seemed  like  dreams  to  her  now,  as  they 
came  back  to  her  recollection.  Sometimes  she  would  gaze 
abroad  with  rapture,  when  some  peculiarly  beautiful  feature  in 
the  landscape  arrested  her  attention — some  clustering  grove 
of  willow  oaks,  in  the  centre  of  a  low,  grassy  plain — their 
rich,  pendant  foliage,  reflected  in  a  glassy  pool  beneath ;  or, 
more  frequently,  the  long,  stately,  symmetrical  colonnades  of 
pine,  v.ith  their  deep-green  "  contiguity  of  shade,'  and  bright, 


OP  THE   BEl,r.E   CREOLE.  (3| 

luxuriant  undergrowth.  Then,  wearied  witli  the  iutendfy  of 
hor  gaze  she  would  lean  back  in  the  carriage,  and,  doling 
iier  eves,  bmk  tmsp  on-r^oi  ^.t.„-  _   .^  ...      '        '  & 


W  e,es   build  those  aerial  fabric:,  tL.  culeT;;:::  tZ! 
m  wh.ch  imagination  loves   to  revel.     Her   school-days !  J 

during  the  next  four 

„„  ij    .  ,       ....^.ug  nine.     How  faithful! v 

would  she  remember  the  instructions  of  the  beloved  Aristides 


.u  wn,cn  imagination  loves  to  revel.  Her  school-days  !- 
what  rich  fruitage  would  she  garner  up,  during  the  next  fo-u- 
y^,  with  which  to  enrich  all  coming  time.     Lw  tohfSi 


and  plume,  as  he  had  directed,  her  young  wings  for  hea  eni 

to  take  no"         "T/"'''  "'"  ''"'  '"'''''  ^'^  ^^  ''"-cd 
0  take  possession  of  her  inherited  wealth,  what  a  kind,  vio,. 

21  T'T  t"t  V'*'  '^ '" '''  p""  ^'^^-  -"-■««"  *o  1^- 

"tude  .  C        7\^  ''°""  ''"'  '^'''"'  "^-^  "^'"^^  <="?  »f  ser- 
vitude    how  carefully  minister  to  the  wants  of  the  body  and 

the  soul  -Her  faithful  Judy,  too,  would  be  with  her  LTn 
who  should  have  a  nice  white  cabin  of  her  own,  fnroThed 
w.t    every  comfort,  where  her  days  should  flow  oL  irtn 
quillity  and  happiness. 

Near  the  close  of  their  second  day's  journey,  Mr.  WaPon 

Z2:'  "'f ""' ""'' ''''"  Btopping-pJ:  befo.;:^,; 

.       .  rr      ""■^^  '^'  ^'''''  ^''''''  =>«  "^«-^  was  no  moon 
and  he  had  been  told  there  was  a  dangerous  precipice  on  th^ 
road  they  were  to  pass.     Tom   was  a  skilful,   experienced 
driver,  and  had  carried  his  master  and  former  mistress  safe  v 
over  many  a  rough  and  difficult  pass;  but  he  had      e  fS 

glass,  and,  when  travelling,  the  temptation  beset  him  with 

water  the  horses,  he  had  unfortunately  found  too  hospitable 
accommodations  for  himself,  and  had  mounted  the  box  in 

ing  w^s   '  ""^'  ""'^'  '""  ''^  ^P"  "^  '-  --'«^ '-i " 

out"tn'*th^  """''v  ^™°^  ^eiyfast?"  cried  Linda,  looking 
out  on  the  precipitous  sides  of  the  road,  which  niw  wen, 
winding  round  on  the  brow  of  a  steep  hill 


62  LINDA;    OR^    THE    YOUNG    PILOT 

"  Oh,  Tom  knows  what  he's  about,"  answered  Mr.  Walton, 
with  that  habitual  easiness  of  mind  which  did  not  like  the 
trouble  of  anticipating  danger.  ^'  He's  managed  these  horses 
from  a  boy,  and  they  are  as  gentle  as  lambs." 

But,  as  the  road  grew  steeper  and  narrower,  and  the  horses 
proceeded  with  a  constantly  accelerating  motion,  Mr.  Walton 
was  roused  to  a  sense  of  danger,  and,  putting  his  head  from 
the  window,  commanded  Tom  to  drive  more  slowly.  J£e  did 
not  know  the  potent  draught  in  which  Tom  had  indulged, 
which  deprived  him  of  the  power  to  guide  and  restrain  the 
animals,  who  were  only  obeying  the  irresistible  power  of  gra- 
vitation in  pursuing  so  furiously  their  downward  course. 

^^  Father,  let  us  jump  out,"  exclaimed  the  terrified  Linda; 
"  we  shall  be  dashed  to  pieces  !  Look  at  that  frightful  cliff 
oh  !  father — see  where  we  are  going." 

I\Ir.  Walton  gave  one  glance  at  the  frightful  cliff  which 
they  were  approaching  with  such  fearful  velocity,  and  felt  in- 
deed that  they  were  lost.  With  a  cry  of  agony,  he  clasped 
his  young  daughter  closely  in  his  arms,  and,  closing  his  eyes, 
tried  to  shut  out  the  vision — the  horrible  vision  of  her  man- 
gled limbs — her  crushed  and  bleeding  body  !  At  this  moment 
a  youth  was  seen  darting  with  almost  lightning  speed  across 
the  fields.  He  leaped  the  zigzag  railing,  sprang  over  the 
rocky  chasih  by  the  way-side,  into  the  road,  right  in  front  of 
the  foaming,  galloping,  terrific-looking  aiiimals.  Linda,  who, 
unlike  her  father,  had  been  gazing  with  wild  intensity  abroad, 
taking  in  the  w/iole  terror  of  the  sceve,  beheld  this  figure 
flying  with  a  speed  that  almost  mocked  her  sight.  She  felt  a 
Budden  jerk  of  the  carriage,  which  threw  them  on  the  oppo- 
site seat;  but  she  could  no  longer  see  the  brave,  young  stran- 
ger who  was  periling  his  life  for  their  safety.  She  did  not 
gee  him  dragged  along  over  the  rocks  and  sands,  still  holding 
the  fiery  steed  he  had  caught  by  the  bridle  rein,  with  Lis 
young,  powerful  arm,  till  the  beast  himself  was  overthrown, 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  63 

and  tliey  rolled  togetlier  in  the  dust.  The  other  horse,  feel- 
ing itself  thus  suddenly  checked,  burst  the  shackles  that  bound 
it  to  its  fellow,  and  plunged  headlong  down  the  precipice,  on 
the  very  brink  of  which  they  were  arrested.  The  carriage  was 
upset  as  the  horse  leaped  from  the  harness ;  but  Linda  and 
her  father  were  saved  unhurt.  Linda  was  the  first  to  spring 
up  and  think  of  their  deliverer.  She  alone  had  seen  him, 
ftnd  knew  the  cause  of  their  preservation.  The  animal  lay 
with  frothing  mouth  and  panting  limbs,  exhausted  by  its  late 
fury.  Prostrate  by  its  side,  with  his  right  arm  under  the 
horse's  head,  and  covered  with  its  flowing  mane,  appeared  a 
figure,  so  youthful  it  seemed  incredible  that  its  strength  had 
been  their  salvation. 

"  Grood  heavens  V  cried  Mr.  Walton,  "  has  that  boy  saved 
usT 

"  Yes,  father,"  said  Linda,  wringing  her  hands  and  weep- 
ing bitterly,  "  he's  saved  us,  but  he  is  killed  himself !" 

Mr.  Walton  knelt  down  over  the  youth,  and  laid  his  hand 
on  his  shoulder. 

"  I  am  not  killed,"  said  the  youth,  faintly ;  "  but  my  arm 
— ^if  I  could  only  release  it  from  under  the  horse's  head." 

It  seemed  a  formidable  task  to  approach  the  animal  that 
had  lately  exhibited  such  tremendous  power ;  but  the  moment 
Mr.  Walton  touched  it,  and  endeavoured  to  move  its  head 
from  the  arm  of  the  youth,  it  recognised  its  master's  presence, 
and  rolled  it  gently  aside.  The  youth  endeavoured  to  move 
his  arm,  but  in  vain.  An  expression  of  acute  pain  crossed 
his  features. 

"  It  is  broken,"  said  he,  and  his  lips  turned  of  ashy  pale- 
ness ;  "  but  if  you  will  help  me,  sir,  I  can  rise.'^ 

Mr.  Walton  put  one  arm  around  the  youth's  shoulders,  and 
was  endeavouring  to  lift  him,  when  he  sprang  up  with  sur- 
prising agility,  though  his  cheek  grew  pale,  and  the  nervous, 
contraction  of  his  brow  indicated  great  suffering. 


G4  LINDA;    OR,  THE  YOUNG   riT.OT 

*^  What  shall  we  do  ?  "What  can  be  done  to  relieve  you  ?" 
exclaimed  Mr.  Walton,  looking  despairingly  on  his  broken 
carriage,  the  remains  of  the  noble  animal  quivering  at  the  foot 
of  the  precipice,  and  then  around  on  the  woods  and  fields, 
where  he  could  discern  no  trace  of  a  habitation,  though  tha 
shadows  of  twilight  were  beginning  to  fall. 

Linda,  on  beholding  the  fainting  countenance  of  their  deli- 
verer, remembered  the  basket  of  cakes  and  cordials  which  had 
been  put  in  the  carriage  for  their  own  refreshment.  She 
searched,  and  found  one  bottle  unbroken,  and  filling  with  its 
contents  a  silver  cup,  ran  forward  and  gave  it  to  her  father. 

"  Here,  father,"  said  she,  earnestly,  "  this  will  do  him 
good.'' 

The  youth  was  unconscious  till  this  moment  of  the  sweet 
young  life  he  had  preserved.  He  smiled  on  the  little  maiden 
as  he  drank  the  cordial,  and  the  colour  came  back  to  his  lips. 

"  My  mother  lives  within  half  a  mile  of  this  spot,''  said  he. 
"  I  can  show  you  the  way,  sir,  if  this  little  Miss  can  walk  so 
far." 

"  But  what  shall  I  do  with  this  poor  creature  ?"  cried  Mr. 
Walton,  looking  sorrowfully  on  the  exhausted  horse.  ^'  I  do 
not  like  to  leave  him." 

"I  will  send  a  negro  back  to  bring  him,"  replied  the 
youth  ;  '^  I  do  not  think  he  is  injured." 

"  Hallo,  Massa  ! — Bless  a  God  you  alive,  and  little  Missus, 
too  !"  exclaimed  a  well-known  voice,  and  Tom  came  panting 
along,  his  clothes  covered  with  dust  and  sand,  his  hat-crown 
smashed  in,  and  a  look  of  dolorous  sheepishness  and  remorse 
furtively  glancing  from  his  white-rimmed,  rolling  eyes.  In 
the  excitement  of  the  scene,  they  had  forgotten  Tom,  who 
had  been  thrown  off,  far  back ;  and,  owing  no  doubt  to  the  re- 
laxed state  of  his  system,  the  non-resisting  muscles,  which 
intoxication  causes,  had  escaped  with  no  other  injury  than  a 
few  bruises.     Unconscious  that  he  was  the  agent  of  their 


OP   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  65 

threatened  destruction,  they  greeted  him  with  a  joj^ul  wel- 
come, and  as  a  great  help  in  their  time  of  need.  ^' Awful 
times,  Massa — awful  times  !"  said  Tom,  casting  a  glance  of 
rueful  penitence  on  the  noble  victim  now  stretched  in  the 
immobility  of  death. 

"  Help  the  living,  Tom ;  there  is  no  use  in  mourning  for 
the  dead,'^  said  his  master,  pointing  to  the  animal  near  them. 

In  a  moment  the  horse  was  on  its  feet,  shaking  the  dust 
from  its  silky  sides,  and  tossing  its  disordered  mane.  Mr. 
"Walton  proposed  that  the  young  man  should  be  lifted  on  the 
horse,  and  be  led  by  Tom  to  his  own  home,  whither  they 
would  follow.  But  this  he  opposed  so  earnestly,  insisting 
that  Linda  should  ride,  as  he  was  perfectly  able  to  walk,  that 
Mr.  Walton  was  obliged  to  yield.  Linda  refused,  also,  hav- 
ing received  too  terrible  a  fright  to  trust  herself  on  the  back 
of  such  a  lion-like  beast ;  so  they  walked  on  together,  leaving 
Tom  to  guard  the  trunks  till  some  vehicle  should  be  sent  to 
remove  them. 

Poor  Linda,  weakened  from  her  fright,  and  weary  from  her 
long  ride,  could  scarcely  drag  one  foot  after  the  other ;  but 
she  would  not  complain.  She  thought  of  the  heroic  sufferer, 
walking  by  her  side,  with  his  broken  arm — broken  for  them, 
and  she  longed  to  share  his  pain,  if  she  could  not  relieve  it. 
Sometimes  he  would  turn  frightfully  pale,  and  lean  his  head 
against  her  father's  shoulder  with  a  quick  shudder ;  then,  de- 
claring himself  better,  walk  on  with  renewed  speed.  He 
could  not  be  older  than  Kobert,  and  he  was  scarcely  as  tall. 
Linda  noticed  that  his  dress  was  not  as  fine  as  Robert's,  for  it 
was  evidently  of  domestic  manufacture ;  but  there  was  suffi- 
cient gentility  in  his  bearing  to  give  her  the  impression  that 
he  was  a  gentleman's  son.  She  hoped  he  was  poor;  then  she 
would  beg  her  father  to  let  her  give  him  half  her  fortune  for 
eaving  their  lives.  "  And  that,"  thought  the  grateful,  gene- 
rous, little  heiress,  "would  not  half  pay  him." 


66  LINDA ;   OR;  THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

How  long  a  half  mile  seems  when  oue  is  travelling  a  new 
path,  with  weary  step,  in  the  midst  of  fast-deepening  shadows 
and  deeper  anxieties  ! 

''  There  is  my  mother's  house/'  said  the  youth,  in  a  faint 
voice,  pointing  with  his  left  hand  to  a  neat  log-cabin,  whose 
windows,  illuminated  by  the  blaze  of  pine-knots — those  glo- 
rious flambeaus  of  the  South — shone  hospitably  on  the  de- 
jected strangers.  A  female  figure,  with  one  arm  raised  above 
its  head,  shading  the  face,  and  looking  earnestly  down  the 
path,  stood  in  the  door-way. 

'^  Roland,  is  that  you  V  inquired  a  mild,  anxious  voice. 

"  Yes,  mother ;  but  make  haste  and  come  to  me — I'm  very 
faint,''  and  the  suffering  boy,  having  fulfilled  the  task  for 
which  he  had  girded  his  failing  strength,  staggered  and  fell. 
After  he  had  raised  and  assisted  in  bearing  him  into  the 
house,  laying  him  on  the  neat,  white  bed  which  stood  in  the 
room  which  they  entered,  Mr.  Walton  explained  to  the 
alarmed  and  distressed  mother,  the  danger  they  had  incurred, 
and  the  heroic  and  almost  miraculous  manner  in  which  her 
son  had  rescued  them  from  destruction. 

In  spite  of  her  distress  and  pre-occupation  of  mind,  jMrs. 
Lee,  (such  was  the  name  of  Roland's  mother,)  could  not  help 
looking  admiringly  on  the  little  maiden,  who  exhibited  such 
animated  sympathy,  and  such  earnest  desires  to  assist  in  Ro- 
land's recovery. 

While  the  mother  was  seeking  more  active  restoratives,  and 
her  father  was  unloosening  his  collar  and  vest,  Linda  wet  her 
handkerchief  with  water  and  bathed  his  forehead,  till  the 
drops  trickled  through  his  thick  chesnut  hair,  on  the  snow 
white  pillow.  The  fear  that  he  was  going  to  die,  and  die  for 
them,  filled  her  with  intolerable  anguish.  The  pale,  meek, 
anxious  face  of  his  mother  would  haunt  her  for  ever.  She 
looked  as  if  she  had  seen  sorrow  already,  and  she  knew  it 
vvould  kill  her  to  lose  her  son.     When  Roland  began  to  re- 


or  THE  BELLE  CREOLE.  67 

vivGj  and  saw  those  large^  pitying,  tearful,  brown  eyes  gazing 
so  wistfully  on  his  face,  and  felt  that  soft,  delicate,  little  hand 
bathing  his  head,  it  was  no  wonder  he  felt  bewildered  and 
knew  not  where  he  was.  Starting,  he  tried  to  rj^ise  himself 
on  his  elbow,  but  groaning  with  pain,  fell  back  There  wa3 
no  physician  within  the  distance  of  six  miles;  and  Roland 
suffered  many  hours  with  his  swollen  and  inflamed  arm, 
though  after  the  first  involuntary  groan  no  expression  of  suf- 
fering escaped  his  lips.  It  was  not  till  a  late  hour  that  Tom 
arrived  with  the  trunks,  and  Linda,  too  much  excited  to  sleep, 
was  persuaded  to  retire  to  bed. 

The  travellers  were  detained  several  days  at  the  cottage  of 
Mrs.  Lee,  till  the  carriage  was  repaired,  another  horse  pur- 
chased, and  the  inflammation  of  Roland's  arm  reduced,  so  that 
no  danger  could  be  apprehended  from  his  case.  Linda  could 
not  bear  to  see  his  arm  bound  up  in  torturing-looking  splin- 
ters, but  he  told  her  they  did  not  hurt  him,  and  that  he  should 
soon  shake  them  off  again.  As  for  staying  in  bed,  gentle  and 
obedient  to  his  mother  in  every  thing  else,  she  could  not  per- 
suade him  to  do  that.  He  even  went  abroad  with  Linda, 
to  show  her  where  some  of  the  prettiest  wild  flowers  were 
blooming,  and  the  young  mocking-birds  were  making  their 
nests. 

"  This  shall  be  yours,"  said  he,  selecting  one  hidden  in  a 
sweet,  little,  vine-wreathed  hollow,  "  and  when  the  little  birds 
are  fledged  Fll  make  a  cage  for  them,  and  take  care  of  them, 
and  call  them  after  your  name." 

"  You  are  very  good  to  think  enough  about  me  for  that," 
said  Linda ;  "  but  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  of  something  I 
could  do  for  you,  who  have  done  so  much  for  us.  If  I  were 
going  home  I  would  have  a  tree  planted  and  call  it  after  your 
name, — but  that  would  be  nothing  after  all." 

She  longed  to  tell  him  what  a  fortune  she  had,  and  how 
gladly  she  would  give  him  half,  but  a  native  feeling  of  deli- 


68  LINDA;    OR;    THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

cacy,  a  fear  that  it  would  sound  like  boastings  a  dread  of 
wounding  his  pride,  restrained  her. 

'^  I  am  sure  I've  done  nothing  worth  praising/^  cried  Ko- 

land,  colouring  with  pleasure,  mingled  with  embarrassment, 

at  the  earnest  expressions  of  gratitude  she  again  and  again 

epeated.     ^'  I  could  not  help  what  I  did,  and  there  is  no 

merit  in  it/' 

"  Could  not  help  it,  Roland  V 

"  No  !  I  was  walking  through  the  field  and  caught  a  glimpse 
of  the  horses  rushing  along  towards  the  precipice,  and  I  knew 
there  must  be  some  one  in  the  carriage  who  would  be  dashed 
to  pieces  over  the  rocks.  I  could  no  more  help  running  and 
leaping  the  fence  and  ditch,  than  I  could  help  breathing  in 
the  living  air.  I  felt  as  strong  as  a  lion,  and  had  there  been 
twenty  horses  instead  of  one,  I  believe  I  could  have  stopped 
them  all.  I  didn't  know  whom  I  saved,  so  I'm  sure  I  de- 
serve no  thanks." 

^'  Yes,  but  you  do  though,'^  answered  the  grateful  child, 
''  and  I'll  thank  you  and  bless  you  as  long  as  I  live.  I  wish 
you  were  my  brother  instead  of  Robert,  and  that  you  were 
going  to  college,  and  that  we  were  going  to  meet  at  home, 
four  years  from  this  time.'' 

^'  I  wish  so  too,"  said  Roland.     ^^  But  who  is  Robert  ?" 

Then  Linda  sat  down  by  him  on  the  grass,  and  told  him 
all  about  her  home  and  childhood,  except  her  own  wrongs. 
She  dwelt  rapturously  on  her  school-days,  and  described  Aris- 
tidcs  Longwood  so  perfectly  and  minutely  that  Roland  said 
he  should  know  him  if  he  met  in  China.  In  return  for  her 
confidence,  Roland  told  her  his  family  history. 

His  father  was  dead  and  all  his  brothers  and  sisters.  He 
was  "  the  only  son  of  his  mother,  and  she  a  widow."  His 
father  was  a  planter  of  considerable  property,  but  he  had  lost 
it  aluiost  all  by  a  security  debt.  His  misfortunes  preyed  upon 
!ii  >  .spirits,  so  that  he  wasted  away  and  died,  and  his  mother, 


OF  THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  69 

collecting  tlie  few  negroes  that  remained  to  her,  retired  to  the 
•i  log-cabin  among  the  hills,  where   they  now  lived.     He  had 
been  to  school  a  good  deal,  but  he  was  now  staying  at  home 
with  his  mother,  and  assisting  her  on  the  farm. 

^'  I  have  always  longed  to  go  to  sea,^'  said  the  boy,  kindling 
with  enthusiasm  as  he  proceeded ;  "  I  never  could  read  of  the 
ocean  and  the  great  vessels  sailing  on  its  bosom,  but  my  blood 
thrilled  in  my  veins.  Oh  !  it  must  be  a  glorious  thing  to  bo 
away  out  on  the  ocean,  out  of  sight  of  land,  nothing  but  sky 
and  water  all  round  you ;  heaving  upon  the  billows,  heaving 
again  and  rocking  like  a  cradle ;  and  the  tall  mast  bending, 
then  righting  in  the  storm." 

"  Would  you  like  to  have  a  ship  of  your  own  V  cried  Linda, 
her  eyes  sparkling  with  excitement.  "  I  will  get  father  to 
buy  you  one  V 

'^  Thank  you,'^  said  Roland,  laughing ;  "  it  would  be  a  great 
present,  but  I  would  not  leave  my  mother  to  go  so  far  from 
her ;  and  she  has  a  great  horror  of  the  sea.  But  I  will  tell 
you  what  I  do  mean  to  do  : — you  know  what  large  rivers  we 
have,  almost  as  grand  as  the  sea ;  well,  one  of  these  days, 
when  you  are  a  young  lady,  and  going  about  in  search  of  plea- 
sure, you  may  sail  in  Captain  Lee's  boat  on  the  Alabama  or 
Mississippi,  for  a  captain  I  mean  to  be  before  I  die,  and  then 
my  mother  can  be  with  me.'' 

"  But  you  cannot  be  a  captain  all  at  once,  can  you  ?"  asked 
Linda,  sympathizing  in  his  enthusiasm  about  the  sea  and  the 
great  rivers;  for  she  too  loved  the  blue  waters,  and  they 
seemed  a  part  of  her  own  soul. 

a  -^Q — I  jnust  take  my  degrees  first.  I'll  serve  as  a  ca Din- 
boy,  clerk,  pilot,  till  I  get  the  command  of  a  boat.  I  have  a 
birch  canoe  in  that  creek  yonder,  which  you  see  shining  through 
the  trees,  and  if  I  could  only  use  my  right  arm  I  would  row 
you  merrily  in  it,  and  you  should  see  what  a  sailor  I  am.  I 
love  to  go  out  in  it  a  moonlight  night,  and  lying  down  in  the 


70  LINDA;    OR,   THE   TOUNO   PILOT 

bottom  of  the  boat,  let  it  go  where  it  pleases,  the  waters 
making  sucli  a  sweet  song  about  my  ears  all  the  while.  1 
have  taken  my  first  degrees  already,  you  see." 

"  But  what  if  your  boat  should  blow  up,  when  you  are  a 
captain, — that  would  be  dreadful.'^ 

"  Yes ;  but  a  carriage  may  run  towards  a  precipice,  and  the 
lightning  may  strike,  and  the  fever  destroy  you  on  your  own 
bed.  I  believe  I  had  rather  be  blown  up  in  the  air,  with  a 
good  many  bearing  me  company,  and  have  the  waters,  that  I 
love  so  well,  for  my  grave,  than  lie  down  all  alone  in  the  cold 
ground,  shut  up  in  a  dark,  narrow  coffin." 

This  reminded  Linda  of  a  story  that  Mr.  Longwood  had 
told  her  of  a  great  barbarian  of  the  name  of  Alaric,  w^ho  had 
a  mountain  stream  turned  back  from  its  course,  leaving  the 
channel  bare,  where  his  grave  was  dug,  and  after  he  was 
buried  the  waters  were  made  to  flow  back  for  ever  over  his 
body.  Roland  kindled  with  enthusiasm  at  this  recital,  and 
envied  the  barbarian  king  such  a  magnificent  grave. 

Linda  repeated  to  her  father  all  that  Koland  had  told  her, 
and  begged  him  to  buy  him  a  boat  and  make  him  captain,  as 
soon  as  he  was  a  few  years  older. 

Though  Mr.  Walton's  gratitude  was  not  quite  so  uncalcu- 
lating  as  Linda's,  he  had  the  interests  of  his  young  preserver 
deeply  at  heart.  He  had  a  long  conversation  with  him,  in 
which  he  urged  upon  him  the  acceptance  of  a  gift,  which 
would  assist  him  in  his  advancement  and  free  him  from  all  fear 
of  pecuniary  embarrassment.  But  the  independent  and  high- 
minded  boy,  with  modest  firmness,  declined  the  proffi3red  boon. 

"  If  my  mother  should  ever  be  in  distress,  or  want  beyond 
my  power  to  relieve,  then,"  said  Roland,  his  fine  countenance 
lighted  up  with  grateful  emotion,  "  I  will  apply  to  you,  as  my 
fii'st,  best  friend." 

Mr.  Walton  would  have  pressed  the  same  ofi'er  on  the  mo- 
ther, but  there  was  a  quiet  dignity  and  refinement  of  manners 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  71 

possessed  by  Mrs.  Lee;  a  gentle  reserve  that  shrunk  from  any 
allusion  to  her  domestic  interests.  It  was  evident  that  some- 
thing of  the  pride  of  better  days  clung  to  her;  that  pride  which 
a  sensitive  person  is  so  fearful  of  wounding. 

The  night  before  their  departure,  while  he  was  meditating 
and  trying  to  mature  some  plans  by  which  he  could  remuner- 
ate them,  without  paining  the  delicacy  he  respected,  he  noticed 
a  large,  old-fashioned,  brazen-clasped  Bible,  lying  on  th& 
mantel-piece — probably  an  heir-loom  of  the  family,  from  the 
venerable  antiquity  of  its  appearance.  After  they  had  sepa- 
rated fox  the  night,  he  returned  to  the  room  for  some  article 
he  had  left,  and  saw  Mrs.  Lee  seated  at  a  table,  reading  in- 
tently in  "  that  old-fashioned  Bible,  which  lay  on  the  stand." 
Softly  closing  the  door,  he  waited  till  he  heard  her  quiet  foot- 
steps retreating  to  her  own  room ;  then  returning,  he  put  a 
hundred  dollar  bill  between  the  leaves  of  the  Bible,  where 
the  widow's  mark  was  placed;  and  closing  the  brazen  clasps, 
laid  it  back  upon  the  shelf.  What  a  different  man  was  Mr. 
Walton,  when  the  pale,  stony  eyes  of  his  wife  were  not  resting, 
like  two  dull,  heavy  weights,  on  his  soul ! 

The  next  morning  the  travellers  stood  by  the  door,  ready 
to  depart.  Linda's  eyes  were  brimming  with  tears.  The 
heroism  of  Roland,  and  the  gentle  hospitality  of  his  mother, 
had  endeared  them  both  to  her  warm  heart.  Never  could  she 
forget  that  dear  log-cabin  among  the  hills. 

Roland  looked  very  sober;  he  scrutinized  Tom  with  a 
keen  eye  as  he  mounted  the  box,  for,  more  quick-discerning 
than  Mr.  Walton,  he  had  detected  the  odour  of  whisky  in  hia 
breath  on  the  night  of  the  disaster. 

"Don't  be  afraid,  young  Massa,"  said  Tom,  winking  hL 
eyes  knowingly.  "  Tom  knows  what  he's  about  this  time. 
Long  as  he  think  of  that  arm  of  yours,  all  splintered  up,  he 
have  enough  to  make  him  scary.  Never  mind^  young  Massa, 
all  safe  now." 


t2  LINDA;    OR,    THE   YOUNG  PILOT 

Kind  adieus  were  exchanged — the  carriage  rolled  slowly 
from  the  door.  Still,  long  as  the  cottage  was  in  view,  Linda 
3ast  her  tearful  glances  backward,  and  when  she  could  discern 
nothing  else,  the  white  scarf  that  supported  Roland's  broken 
arm,  gleaming  through  the  distance,  told  her  that  he  was  yet 
ingering  on  the  threshold. 


CHAPTER  yn. 


Linda  at  a  boarding-school — another  era  in  her  young  ex- 
istence. But  let  us  describe  Hose  Boicer,  for  such  was  the 
name  of  Mrs.  Reveire's  Seminary  of  Learning, — a  large, 
white  mansion,  with  a  pillared  piazza  surrounding  the  build- 
ing. It  was  situated  in  the  midst  of  an  ample,  green  yard, 
margined  with  rose  trees,  whose  profusion  and  great  luxuriance 
had  given  name  to  the  classic  institution.  The  thick,  cluster- 
ing multiflora  and  nondescript  wreathed  the  pillars  of  the 
piazza,  and  a  thick  hedge  of  Cherokee  roses  ran  around  the  in- 
terior of  the  wall.  The  want  of  shade  might  have  been  ob- 
jected to  this  beautiful  building,  had  not  a  thick  grove  of 
young  oaks,  adjoining  the  yard,  wooed  the  eye  to  repose  in  its 
cool  depths.  Many  a  rustic  seat,  placed  beneath  the  trees, 
showed  the  use  to  which  they  were  appropriated  by  the  young 
students  of  Rose  Bower.  It  was  now  the  season  of  roses,  and 
every  bush  was  glowing  with  blossoms,  every  gale  was  redo- 
lent with  their  balmy  breath. 

"  Oh,  what  a  beautiful  place !"  exclaimed  Linda,  when  it 
first  met  her  eager  gaze.  "  I  know  I  shall  be  happy  here  !" 
and  "I  know  I  shall  be  happy  here,"  again  repeated  she  to 
herself,  when  she  beheld  the  lady  to  whose  care  she  was 
committed,    the  elegant    and    accomplished    Mrs     Reveiro 


OF  THE   BELLE . CREOLE.  7S 

With  a  sweet  benignity  of  countenance  that  softened  tho 
dignity  of  her  mien,  she  received  her  young  charge,  kindly 
holding  her  by  the  hand,  and  smoothing  back  the  bright 
ringlets  from  her  downcast  eyes. 

"  Your  daughter  appears  very  young  to  be  left  so  far  from 
home,"  said  the  lady,  in  a  gentle  tone.  <^  But  we  will  try  to 
keep  her  from  being  home-sick  with  us.'' 

^^I  am  not  afraid  of  being  home-sick  with  you,''  cried 
Linda,  earnestly;  then,  blushing  at  her  own  warmth,  she 
again  bent  her  head  till  the  ringlets  shaded  her  eyes. 

"  I  think  you  have  brought  me  a  treasure  in  your  daugh- 
ter," said  Mrs.  Reveire,  when  Linda  had  retired  to  change 
her  travelling  apparel;  ^^she  has  one  of  the  most  intelligent, 
ingenuous  countenances  I  ever  saw." 

The  father  was  touched — he  became  eloquent  in  the  praises 
of  his  child ;  but  Mrs.  Reveire,  who  read  characters  by  a  kind 
of  intuition,  needed  not  a  parent's  recommendation  to  interest 
her  in  her  new  pupil.  Her  heart  had  gone  forth  to  meet  her 
without  waiting  for  her  credentials,  and  she  knew  that  Linda's 
met  it,  at  least  half-way.  There  was  an  expression  in  the 
beautiful  eyes  of  the  child  that  seemed  to  say,  "I  want  you 
to  love  me,  for  I  have  not  always  known  what  love  is." 

At  length  the  bell  sounded  long  and  loud,  to  announee  that 
supper  was  ready.     Mrs.  Reveire  led  Linda  through  a  long 
passage,  down  a  winding  flight  of  stairs,  into  a  large  base- 
ment hall,  where  two  tables  were  set  parallel,  the  whole  length 
of  the  room.     Linda  paced  with  timid  steps  the  long,  brick- 
paved  hall,  and  took  the  place  assigned  her  by  Mrs.  Reveire. 
Another  long  peal  rung  through  the  house;  then  came  a 
rushing,  rustling  sound  through  the  passage  and  on  the  stair- 
way, and  the  young  ladies  of  the  institute  came  in  two  by  two, 
and  took  their  stations  at  the  table.     There  were  about  fifty; 
but  there  was  no  confusion  in  arranging  them,  as  they  alj 
knew  their  appointed  places. 


74  LINDA;    OR,  THE   YOUXG   TILOT 

"Young  ladies,"  said  Mrs.  Reveire,  looking  kindly  at 
Linda,  "  you  have  a  new  companion  in  Miss  Linda  Walt  )n. 
I  bespeak  for  her  your  kindest  feelings  and  best  offices,  as  she 
is  very  young,  and  knows  not  yet,  as  you  have  once  felt,  the 
loneliness  of  the  stranger's  heart/' 

Smiling  glances  from  a  myriad  of  bright  eyes  answered 
this  affectionate  address,  and  Linda  smiled  again.  Thus  a 
kind  of  electrical  communication  was  established  between  the 
strangers,  seldom  known  after  the  years  of  childhood  and  early 
youth.  Linda  could  not  eat ;  every  thing  around  her  was  so 
novel  and  exciting.  The  lively  clatter  of  knives  and  forks — 
the  low  chatter  of  mingling  voices — the  sight  of  so  many 
strange  faces — quite  bewildered  her.  Mrs.  Reveire  did  not 
require  her  pupils  to  eat  in  unbroken  silence,  as  ^'  if  funeral 
baked  meats"  were  placed  before  them ;  but  she  did  require 
strict  propriety  and  gentility  of  deportment.  If  the  laugh 
was  too  loud,  or  the  voice  too  rough  in  its  tones,  a  word  or 
look,  directed  towards  the  offending  party  recalled  them  to 
order. 

When  supper  was  over,  they  retired  in  regular  succession, 
as  they  came,  only  one  young  lady  lingering  behind,  whom 
Mrs.  Reveire  introduced  to  Linda  as  her  room-mate,  by  the 
name  of  Emily  Chestney.  She  was  a  tall,  stately  looking 
girl,  with  very  black  hair  and  eyes,  and  a  skin  like  polished 
marble.  Linda  thought  she  looked  cold  and  haughty,  and 
was  sorry  Mrs.  Reviere  had  not  given  her  as  a  companion  one 
of  those  younger,  merrier-looking  girls,  who  looked  so  roguish 
and  smiling  upon  her  across  the  table.  She  was  not  required 
to  study  that  night ;  but  sat  with  her  father  and  Mrs.  Reveire 
in  the  parlour  till  the  ringing  of  the  nine-o'clock  bell,  when 
tinother  flight  of  stairs  was  ascended,  another  long  passage 
threaded,  and  she  found  herself  in  her  own  dormitory,  one  of 
&  long  suite  of  apartments,  so  arranged  as  to  accommodate 
two  pupils  in  each. 


OF   THE  BELLE   CREOLE.  75 

"  Ob  !  how  nice  and  comfortable  V  ejaculated  Linda,  look- 
ing at  the  pure  white  walls,  neat  wardrobe,  and  bright-coloured 
curtains.     ^^Are  all  the  rooms  like  this?'' 

"  Yes,  exactly,"  replied  Emily;  "you  must  remember  that 
this  is  No.  12 ;  for,  if  you  should  chance  to  forget,  you  may 
lose  your  way  and  never  be  able  to  find  it." 

"It  will  take  me  a  long  time  to  remember  all  the  new 
things  I  see  here,"  answered  Linda.  "  But  Tm  sure  of  one 
thing — I  cannot  help  being  happy  with  such  a  sweet  lady  as 
Mrs.  Reveire.     Do  you  not  love  her  very  much  ?" 

"  I  like  her  better  than  any  teacher  I  ever  knew ;  but  I'm 
tired  of  going  to  school,  for  all  that.  I  think  Tm  old  enough 
to  stop." 

"  Yes,"  said  Linda,  innocently,  "  I  should  think  so,  too." 

'I  Do  you  think  I  look  so  very  old  ?"  asked  the  young 
lady,  in  a  displeased. tone.     "Tm  only  sixteen." 

"  No,"  replied  Linda,  timidly ;  for  she  felt  she  had  given 
offence  ;  "  but  you  are  so  tall,  and  look  so  much  like  a-  lady — ■ 
somehow — I  thought " 

"  No  matter,"  interrupted  Emily,  "  I  don't  care  how  I 
look ;  but  I  know  how  I  feel ;  and  Tm  determined  to  be  a 
young  lady  in  earnest  before  the  year  is  out."         ^; 

She  gave  her  books  a  sudden  push,  and  bid  Linda  prepare 
for  bed,  as  their  candles  would  be  taken  out  in  a  short  time, 
whether  they  were  ready  or  not.  Linda's  head  was  soon  qui- 
etly resting  on  her  pillow,  the  candle  was  taken  out,  and 
Emily  lay  down  by  her  side.  She  was  weary  and  drowsy, 
and  was  just  falling  asleep,  when  a  tittering  noise  in  the  pas- 
sage awakened  her.  The  door  softly  opened,  and  the  next 
moment  something  heavy  was  thrown  upon  her  head. 

"Mercy,  what's  that?"  exclaimed  Linda,  starting  up  in 
alarm. '' 

"  It  is  one  of  the  wild  girls  in  the  next  room,"  replied 
Emily.     "  They  are  throwing  their  shoes  at  your  head.    That 
5 


76  LINDA;    OR;    THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

is  the  way  I  was  greeted  the  first  night  I  came.  Take  no 
notice  of  them,  or  they  will  do  something  more  annoying/ 

Linda  remained  perfectly  still,  though  she  felt  a  pair  of 
cold,  wet  hands  clasping  her  feet. 

"  Let's  tickle  her,"  whispered  a  voice,  at  the  foot  of  the  bed. 

"  No,"  whispered  another,  "  she  will  scream,  and  Mrs.  Ke- 
veire  will  hear  her.     We'll  only  tie  her  feet  to  the  bed-post." 

^^  If  you  do,"  said  Emily,  ^'  I  will  tell  Mrs.  Reveire  my- 
self. You  had  better  go  to  bed,  Kate  Miller,  and  save  your- 
self a  mark  of  disgrace  in  the  morning." 

Another  suppressed  titter,  and  all  was  still  again. 

^^This  is  one  of  the  ceremonies  of  your  initiation,"  said 
Emily.     '^  Be  thankful  it  is  no  worse." 

Linda  was  not  at  all  pleased,  and  began  to  think  she  might 
find  some  thorns  amid  the  sweet  roses  of  the  bower.  She  be- 
came wakeful,  and  it  seemed  that  Emily  was  so  too ;  for  she 
rose  soon,  and,  taking  a  candle  from  her  trunk,  lighted  it  with 
a  match,  and  placed  it  on  the  table;  then  taking  a  large, 
thick  shawl,  she  hung  it  carefully  over  the  curtained  window, 
so  as  to  exclude  every  ray  of  light.  Linda  did  not  move,  but 
watched  her  movements  with  great  curiosity,  wondering  what 
she  was  going  to  do  that  required  so  much  caution.  Emily 
seated  herself  at  the  table,  and  opening  her  portfolio  took  out 
letter  after  letter,  and  read  them  with  the  most  profound  at- 
tention. Then  she  drew  paper,  pen,  and  ink  towards  her,  and 
began  to  write.  Sometimes  she  would  pause,  and  fix  her 
large,  bright  eyes  on  the  opposite  wall  so  intently,  that  Linda 
almost  expected  to  see  two  black  spots  left  on  its  whiteness ; 
then,  bending  over  her  paper,  her  pen  would  make  that  quick, 
scratching  sound  which  impresses  the  listener  with  such  a 
grand  idea  of  the  writer.  Linda  continued  to  gaze  upon  her 
mysterious  companion  from  under  the  shadow  of  the  bed- 
cover, till  Emily's  features  gradually  became  pale  and  misty, 
the  iiueaments  of  her  figure  melted  into  I  he  white  back-ground, 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  77 

on  wliicli  it  was   defined,  and  vanished  away.     The  young 
traveller  was  asleep. 

It  was  some  time  before  the  inexperienced  Linda  could  un- 
derstand the  various  little  deceptive  arts  practised  by  many  of 
the  pupils,  to  elude  the  vigilance  of  their  teachers.  Possessed  of 
the  most  perfect  ingenuousness  of  character  herself,  she  loathed 
the  petty  subterfuges  which  she  daily  witnessed.  Becoming 
every  day  more  and  more  attached  to  Mrs.  Re  voire,  she  con- 
formed to  all  her  rules  with  reverential  obedience,  and  applied 
herself  diligently  to  her  studies,  from  the  double  motive  of 
pleasing  her  instructress  and  improving  herself.  The  wild 
girls  nick-named  her  at  first  the  ^Hittle  parson,"  and  passed 
upon  her  many  a  practical  joke;  but  when  they  found  that, 
though  silent  and  studious  at  her  desk,  and  patient  and  perse- 
vering at  her  tasks,  she  was  one  of  the  swiftest  runners,  most 
agile  jumpers,  and  merriest  laughers,  when  they  assembled 
at  play-hours,  in  the  young  oaken  grove,  she  became  a  gene- 
ral favourite,  and  no  amusement  was  considered  perfect  with- 
out the  participation  of  Linda  Walton. 

The  child  who  is  favourite  of  both  teachers  and  pupils, 
must  combine  many  rare  qualities.  Linda  was  happy  in  the 
consciousness  of  fulfilling  her  duty,  and  of  being  beloved  by 
those  around  her.  At  home  she  was  a  Picciola,  blooming  in 
the  dungeon's  gloom,  fair  and  sweet,  in  spite  of  the  chiiMng 
influences  that  surrounded  her;  here  she  was  a  flower  in  the 
midst  of  flowers,  bathed  in  sunshine,  and  rejoicing  in  the 
breeze. 

It  was  a  lovely  sight  when  the  young  inmate^  of  Rose 
Bower,  released  from  the  restraints  and  duties  of  the  day, 
gathered  together,  just  before  sunset,  to  revel  in  the  joy  of 
fi*eedom.  Here  a  graceful  group  might  be  seen,  reclining  in 
all  the  abandonment  of  childish  ease  on  the  grass ;  there,  a 
merrier  band,  chasing  each  other  under  the  flying  rope  ;  some 
walking  more  soberly,  with  arm  interlaced  in  arm,  or  passed 


78  LINDA;    OR;  THE   YOUNG    PILOT 

fondly  round  the  girlish  waist,  would  seek  some  remctte  comer, 
and  converse  earnestly  and  confidingly  with  each  other.  Some- 
times a  sulky,  discontented-looking  being,  would  stray  off  by 
herself,  refusing  to  share  in  those  pleasures  which  her  own 
envy  and  jealousy  embittered.  But  these  solitary  figures  were 
very  rare.  To  the  passer-by,  the  oak  grove  presented  as  fair 
a  spectacle  as  the  garden  of  Eden — so  many  living  rose-buds 
bursting  into  fresher,  fairer  life — so  many  bounding  forms, 
revelling  in  the  mere  joy  of  existence — so  many  bright  ring- 
lets tossing  in  the  breeze,  and  so  many  starry  eyes  flashing 
upon  each  other  rays  of  gladness  and  mirth — how  could  it  be 
otherwise  than  a  charming  scene  ? 

But  though  the  casual  observer  could  detect  no  flaw  in  this 
sparkling  jewelry,  there  were  some  false  gems  there,  unworthy 
of  their  setting.  It  pained  Linda  when  she  became  aware  of 
any  mischievous  plot,  which  she  knew  Mrs.  Reveire  would 
disapprove ;  but,  though  she  would  not  participate  in  their 
offences,  she  scorned  to  betray  them. 

Emily  was  a  mystery  to  her  which  she  could  not  unravel. 
Frequently  she  would  rise  after  all  the  dormitories  were  quiet, 
and,  lighting  her  secret  candle,  write  as  if  her  whole  soul  were 
engaged  in  the  task.  Linda  knew  it  was  wrong,  for  it  was  in 
direct  violation  of  Mrs.  Keveire's  rules,  and  she  wished  she 
had  a  different  room-mate.  She  knew,  too,  that  the  letters 
thus  secretly  written  were  not  given  to  Mrs.  Reveire  to  he 
placed  in  the  post-office,  as  the  regulations  of  the  school  re- 
quired.    Where,  then,  were  they  deposited  ? 

One  morning  Linda  noticed  the  washerwoman,  who  came 
for  their  clothes,  in  a  long  conference  with  Emily.  The  latter 
was  placing  a  letter  in  her  bosom  as  Linda  entered  the  room, 
and  her  face  was  flushed  with  excitement.  Linda  had  con- 
ceived a  particular  dislike  to  this  woman,  who  was  a  free  negro 
of  the  name  of  Peggy.  She  was  astonished  at  the  extreme 
familiarity  to  which  the  young  ladies  admitted  her,  and  the 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  79 

presents  tliey  lavished  upon  her.  She  scarcely  ever  left  theii 
apartments  without  bearing  with  her  some  article  of  clothing 
which  she  was  very  careful  to  conceal  from  the  searching  eye 
of  Mrs.  Reveire. 

Peggy's  cabin  was  situated  back  of  the  beautiful  grove  we 
have  so  often  mentioned,  entirely  concealed  by  its  luxuriant 
foliage.  One  evening,  Kate  Miller,  the  wild  girl  who  had 
threatened  to  tie  Linda's  feet  on  the  night  of  her  arrival,  drew 
Linda  apart  from  her  companions,  and  winding  her  arm 
around  her  waist,  asked  her  if  she  did  not  want  to  go  and  see 
what  a  pretty  little  cottage  Peggy  had. 

"  But  does  Mrs.  Reveire  allow  you  to  go  there  ?'  asked  the 
conscientious  Linda. 

^'  Oh,  she  don't  care  where  we  go,  if  we  keep  within  school 
boundaries,  and  the  lot  where  Peggy  lives  belongs  to  her. 
All  you  have  to  do  is  to  jump  over  this  fence  and  you  will  be 
there  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye." 

Notwithstanding  Linda's  dislike  of  Peggy,  she  thought  her 
cottage  looked  very  inviting  through  the  green  trees,  with  its 
white-washed  lattice,  and  neat  little  porch ;  and  with  the  na- 
tural cui-iosity  of  childhood,  was  glad  to  peep  within. 

As  they  approached  the  door,  she  was  surprised  by  hearing 
the  hum  of  many  laughing  voices. 

"  Oh,  I  dont  want  to  go  in,"  said  Linda,  trying  to  release 
her  arm  from  Kate,  who  only  grasped  it  the  tighter.  "  There 
are  so  many  people  there— I  know  Mrs.  Picveire  will  not  like- 
it." 

"  Mrs.  Reveire  will  not  like  it !"  exclaimed  Kate,  mocking 
Linda's  deprecating  tones.  '^  don't  care  whether  she  likes 
it  or  not.  She'll  never  find  it  out  unless  you  tell  her.  Here 
girls,"  she  cried  in  a  louder  voice,  "  come  and  help, — ^I've  got 
a  new  member  of  our  secret  club ;  come  quickly." 

Half  a  dozen  familiar  faces  appeared  at  the  door,  laughing 
violently. 


80  LINDA;  on,  the  young  pilot 

'^  TVTiat !  the  little  parson ! — well  done.  This  is  capital. 
We  must  make  her  say  grace  for  us.'' 

Linda  struggled  and  entreated  in  vain.  They  seized  her  by 
main  force,  and  whirled  her  into  the  centre  of  the  room,  while 
two  of  the  girls  stood  in  the  doorway  to  preclude  the  possi- 
bility of  her  egress. 

"  "Welcome  to  Liberty  Hall,  Miss  Linda  !"  cried  Kate,  clap- 
ping her  hands  exultingly.  "  You  are  one  among  us  now, 
and  there  is  no  use  in  being  sanctified  any  longer." 

Linda  gazed  around  her  in  unutterable  astonishment.  One 
pretty,  delicate  girl  was  stooping  over  a  hot  fire,  though  it 
was  a  warm  summer  eve,  busily  engaged  in  frying  eggs ;  an- 
other was  turning  some  rashers  of  bacon,  with  a  face  the  colour 
of  crimson ;  and  a  third  was  stirring  a  pot  of  custard,  as  if 
her  life  depended  on  the  act.  Bread  and  butter,  cake  and 
pickles  were  scattered  over  a  table,  to  which  Kate  Miller  drag- 
ged the  shrinking  Linda. 

^^Here,  honey,  help  yourself.  Plenty  of  every  thing  in 
Liberty  Hall.  Peggy  serves  us  like  a  princess.  I  mean  she 
shall  be  queen  of  May  next  year." 

"  I  dont  want  any  thing  to  eat,"  cried  Linda,  indignantly, 
^^but  what  I  find  on  Mrs  Reveire's  table.  I  am  sure  she 
doesn't  starve  us,  that  we  should  come  and  eat  in  a  negro 
hovel." 

"Young  Missus  hold  her  head  mighty  high,"  muttered 
Peggy,  who  sat  in  a  corner,  smoking  her  long  pipe,  whose 
fumes  were  mingling  with  the  odour  of  the  viands.  "  Me  no 
care.  Bigger  ladies  than  she  glad  enough  to  come  and  see 
Peggy." 

"  Hear  !  hear !"  exclaimed  Kate ;  "  the  little  parson  is 
preaching.  She  is  holding  forth  against  the  sin  of  gluttony, 
but  she's  longing  all  the  time  for  some  of  the  goodies.  Come, 
Linda,  this  is  all  pretence;  make  yourself  at  home.  You 
don't  know  what  fun  wu  have  hero." 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  81 

"No,  let  her  go  and  tell  Mrs.  Reveire.  That  will  be 
better  fun  for  her,"  cried  one  of  Kate's  companions. 

"  I  have  never  betrayed  my  companions/'  said  Linda,  tears 
of  wounded  feeling  starting  into  her  eyes. 

"  No,  that  she  hasn't,"  interrupted  Kate,  frankly.  "  I  am 
not  afraid  of  her  doing  any  thing  so  mean." 

Linda  remarked,  for  the  first  time,  that  Emily  Chestney  was 
present,  seated  at  a  back  window,  with  her  usual  cold  and  ab- 
stracted air. 

"  You  here,  Emily  !'^  exclaimed  Linda.  "  I  wouldn't  have 
believed  it." 

The  marble  white  of  Emily's  cheek  turned  a  bright  crimson. 
''I  did  not  come  to  eat,'^  replied  she,  contemptuously. 

^*  Mercy  !"  exclaimed  one  of  the  door-keepers,  "  if  here  isn't 
Mrs.  Reveire !" 

"With  one  bound  she  sprang  under  the  table,  making  a  ter- 
rible crash  among  Peggy's  china.  Fried  eggs,  boiled  custard, 
and  broiling  ham,  all  leaped  into  the  coals.  Every  chair  was 
upset  in  the  running  and  confusion  which  followed  this  unex- 
pected announcement.  Linda  stood  still  in  the  centre  of  the 
apartment,  and  hers  was  the  first  figure  which  met  the  calm, 
but  indignant  glance  of  Mrs.  Reveire. 

"  Linda,  I  little  expected  to  see  you  here,"  cried  she,  in  a 
voice   which   she   in   vain   endeavoured  to  render  tranquil 
"  And  Emily,  too ;  the  dignified  and  lady-like  Emily  Chest- 
ney !     In  whom  can  I  place  confidence  ?" 

Linda  bent  her  head  and  wept  bitterly. 

"Linda  didn't  come  of  her  own  will,"  exclaimed  Kate  Mil- 
ler, boldly :  "  I  dragged  her  in,  and  almost  pulled  my  arms 
ofi^  in  doing  it." 

"  I  am  glad,  Kate,  you  have  the  redeeming  virtue  of  can- 
dour left,"  replied  Mrs.  Reveire,  gravely.  "  Linda,  I  rejoice 
that  I  have  not  been  deceived  in  you.  My  feelings  arc  suffi- 
ciently wounded  already.     Grateful  I  am,  that  drop  of  bitter- 


82  unda;  or,  the  young  pilot 

ness  is  not  infused  into  my  cup  of  care.  As  for  you,  un 
principled  woman/'  added  she,  turning  to  Peggy,  her  usually 
benignant  countenance  flashing  with  indignation,  "where  are 
the  spoils  you  have  hidden,  the  garments  you  have  bribed 
these  young  ladies  to  bestow  upon  you,  by  pampering  their 
lowest  propensities,  and  teaching  them  the  vilest  deceit  ?  I 
have  discovered  the  shameless  traffic  you  have  been  carrying 
on ;  in  time,  I  trust,  to  prevent  its  worst  consequences.'' 

Peggy  began  to  mutter  that  she  was  free,  and  that  she 
never  asked  the  young  ladies  to  give  her  their  clothes ;  but 
Mrs.  Reveire  commanded  her  with  so  much  dignity  to  produce 
the  ill-gotten  spoils  she  had  so  long  been  secreting,  that  she 
dared  not  disobey.  Hauling  a  large  basket  from  under  the 
bed,  she  displayed  a  quantity  of  dresses,  aprons,  skirts,  &c., 
which  filled  even  the  ringleaders  of  this  secret  club  with  as- 
tonishment. 

"  Young  ladies,''  cried  Mrs.  Reveire,  to  the  pale  and  trem- 
bling culprits  surrounding  that  ominous-looking  basket,  "  if 
this  poor,  ignorant  negro  deserves  so  severe  a  rebuke,  what 
can  I  say  to  you,  whose  minds  are  enlightened  by  education ; 
whose  hearts  have  been  softened  by  the  tenderest  cares  ?  Is 
this  the  reward  of  my  affection  ?  the  return  for  my  watchful 
Jays,  my  almost  sleepless  nights  ?  Have  I  ever  imposed  a  re- 
straint that  was  not  for  your  good  ?  Have  I  ever  denied  you 
food  that  you  should  gather  in  this  low  place  and  share  the 
hospitality  of  a  hireling  ?  What  would  your  parents  say  if 
they  entered  at  this  moment,  and  witnessed  the  scene  now 
presented  to  my  eyes.  Unhappy  children  !  you  are  bringing 
discredit  on  an  institution  which  has  long  been  my  pride  and 
delight.  You  are  planting  the  thorns  of  ingratitude  in  the 
roses  of  my  bower." 

The  heads  of  the  culprits  dronpod  lower  and  lower;  sobs 
burst  forth  ;  the  wild  spirit  of  fun  and  misrule  was  subdued 
by  the  calm,  earnest,  affectionate  accents  of  her  whom  they 


OP  THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  83 

loved,  in  spite  of  all  their  folly  and  disobedience.  Linda  ran 
and  threw  her  arms  around  Mrs.  Reveire. 

"Oh,  dear,  best  Mrs.  Reveire,  f-ay  forgive  them  this  time. 
They  are  very,  very  sorry.  It  is  from  the  love  of  fun  they 
have  done  it.'' 

"  Fun  is  a  low  word,  my  child ;  an  excuse  for  the  most 
grovelling  actions.  Those  who  have  no  higher  object  in  their 
amusements,  generally  have  recourse  to  the  lowest  and  most 
degraded  auxiliaries.  I  would  have  the  young  ladies  commit- 
ted to  my  care  cultivate  a  spirit  of  refinement  in  their  most 
unguarded  hours,  their  wildest  moments  of  recreation.  I 
would  have  them  remember  that  they  were  brought  here  to 
receive  the  education  of  ladies,  and  that  I  do  not  divide  my 
authority  with  the  ignorant  and  debased." 

She  spoke  with  so  much  majesty  that  Linda,  fearful  that 
she  had  offended,  involuntarily  relaxed  the  soft  pressure  of 
her  arms,  and  turned  aside  her  tearful  eyes. 

"  Nay,  my  sweet  child,"  said  she,  drawing  her  once  more 
closely  to  her,  "  I  am  not  insensible  to  your  touching  appeal. 
My  own  heart  is  only  too  ready  to  grant  your  request.  But 
I  have  a  duty  to  fulfil,  and  these  young  ladies  must  not  min- 
gle with  their  associates  till  I  am  assured,  by  their  penitence 
and  good  behaviour,  that  contamination  will  not  result  from 
their  companionship." 

Many  a  fair  head  looked  down  from  Rose  Bower  on  the 
novel  procession  that  issued  from  Peggy's  cottage  that  even- 
ing. First,  Peggy  marched  forth,  an  immense  basket  tower- 
ing like  a  turret  on  her  head ;  then  the  delinquents  followed, 
two  and  two,  hanging  their  heads  like  bulrushes;  lastly,  Mrs. 
Reveire,  with  Emily  and  Linda  on  either  side.  There  wag 
something  so  graceful  and  dignified  about  this  lady,  it  was  im- 
possible to  associate  any  thing  ridiculous  with  her,  in  whatever 
situation  she  might  be  placed ;  and  Emily,  though  her  lip 
quivered,  walked  by  her  instructress  with  a  step  as  firm  and 


84  LINDA;    OR;    THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

a  brow  as  lofty.  The  culprits  were  dismissed  to  tbeir 
rooms,  where  they  were  told  to  remain  until  personally  sum- 
moned,— all  but  Emily,  whom  Mrs.  Reveire  led  to  her  own 
apartment. 

"  Why  do  you  bring  me  here  ?"  asked  she,  proudly,  "  I  am 
Trilling  to  submit  to  the  same  punishment  as  my  companions.'' 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  punish  so  much  as  to  convince,"  said  the 
lady.  "  You  were  not  led  by  the  love  of  fun,  if  I  must  use 
60  low  an  expression.  You  have  other  motives,  Emily ;  mo- 
tives which,  however  studiously  you  conceal  from  me,  your 
delegated  friend,  are  yet  known  to  me,  and  fill  me  with  the 
deepest  anxiety." 

"  Oh  !  madam — what  is  it  you  mean  ?" 

''  You  are  carrying  on  a  secret  correspondence.  You  have 
intrusted  Peggy  with  the  care  of  your  letters ;  you  have  com- 
mitted your  reputation  into  the  hands  of  a  servant,  and 
closed  your  heart  to  one  whom  you  would  find  as  ready  to 
sympathize  in  your  afi'ections  as  assist  you  in  your  duties,  pro- 
vided, alwayS;  those  afi'ections  were  flowing  in  a  legitimate 
channel." 

^^Oh,  madam!"  again  ejaculated  Emily,  covering  her  face 
with  her  hands  and  bursting  into  a  passionate  flood  of  tears. 
She  wept  as  only  the  proud  can  weep,  when  the  barriers  of 
their  pride  are  swept  aside.  Mrs.  Reveire  sat  down  by  hex 
side,  and  put  her  arms  kindly  round  her.  Her  own  voice  fal- 
tered— her  own  eyes  were  dim  with  tears. 

"  I  grieve  to  see  you  sufi"er,  Emily ;  and  would  gladly 
spare  you  the  pain  and  humiliation  you  now  endure.  If  you 
will  grant  me  your  full  confidence,  I  will  endeavour  to  save 
you  from  exposure  and  shame ;  and,  if  possible,  promote  your 
future  happiness.  Though  I  have  learned  to  discipline  my 
passions  and  bring  them  under  the  control  of  reason  and 
judgment,  I  have  not  forgotten  the  memory  of  my  youthful 


OP   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  85 

days,  or  the  temptations  to  which  a  warin^  romantic  imagina- 
tion exposes  its  possessor." 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Reveire !  how  kind,  how  more  than  kind  you 
are  !  I  am  not  worthy  of  such  goodness,  but  I  can  appreciate 
it  as  it  desei-ves.  Ask  me  any  thing — every  thing ;  I  will 
have  no  more  concealments.  I  have  been  too  wretched  in  tho 
practice  of  deceit." 

Mrs.  Re  voire  gathered  from  Emily's  broken  recital,  that 
she  was  betrothed  to  a  young  man  whom  she  had  known  from 
earliest  childhood,  but  to  whom  her  father  objected,  because 
he  was  not  rich.  She  had  been  sent  to  a  distant  school  that 
she  might  be  removed  from  his  vicinity,  and  positively  forbid- 
den to  have  any  correspondence  with  him.  Through  Peggy, 
Bhe  had  received  his  letters  from  the  office,  directed  to  a  ficti- 
tious name,  and  sent  her  own  in  return. 

'^  And  now,"  said  she,  after  acknowledging  the  full  extent 
of  her  transgressions,  "  you  know  how  basely  I  have  deceived 
you,  can  you  extend  to  me  your  forgiveness  ?  It  is  in  your 
power  to  destroy  my  happiness  for  ever.  You  can  inform  my 
father  of  my  disobedience,  and  he  will  remove  me  still  farther 
from  all  I  love.  I  have  no  right  to  expect  any  other  decision. 
Even  then,  I  must  ever  be  grateful  for  the  gentleness  and  for- 
bearance you  have  exercised  towards  me." 

Emily  begged  permission  to  retire  a  moment  to  her  own 
chamber,  which,  having  obtained,  she  brought  her  portfolio, 
and  laid  it  in  Mrs.  Reveire's  lap. 

"  I  wish  you  to  read  his  letters,"  said  she ;  "  perhaps  they 
will  plead  in  my  behalf.'*'  ~ 

Mrs.  Reveire  read  several;  not  from  idle  curiosity,  bu 
from  a  desire  to  learn  something  of  the   character  of  the 
young  man  so  romantically  beloved.     She  became  deeply  in- 
terested in  their  contents,  for  they  seemed  the  transcript  of  a 
warm  and  generous  heart,  a  cultivated  and  enlightened  mind. 

"  I  will  write  to  him  myself,"  said  she,  "  urging  him,  for 


86  ltnda;  or,  the  youxg  pilot 

your  sake,  to  discontinue  this  clandestine  correspondence, 
promising  to  intercede  with  your  father  with  all  the  eloquence 
of  which  I  am  mistress,  in  behalf  of  both.  You  are  very 
young,  Emily ;  and  for  every  sacrifice  you  now  make  to  duty, 
you  will  be  richly  rewarded  hereafter.  If  your  lover  does 
not  value  you  more  for  this  adherence  to  principle,  he  is  not 
worthy  of  the  affection  you  have  bestowed  upon  him.'' 

Relieved  from  the  intolerable  burden  of  duplicity,  Emily's 
character  appeared  in  a  new  and  interesting  light.  She  mani- 
fested the  warmest  attachment  to  Mrs.  Reveire,  and  the  most 
affectionate  interest  in  Linda.  The  cold,  abstracted,  and 
statue-like  girl,  became  the  kind  and  sympathizing  companion. 

It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  state  the  manner  in  which  Mrs. 
Reveire  received  information  of  the  social  meetings  at  Liberty 
Hall,  or  the  secret  correspondence  of  Emily.  She  employed 
no  spies :  but  when  her  servants,  by  whom  she  was  much  be- 
loved, saw  evil  doings  and  secret  machinations,  they  were  sure 
to  give  her  intelligence. 

After  this,  every  thing  went  on  smoothly  for  a  long  time  at 
Rose  Bower.  The  gentle  firmness  of  Mrs.  Reveire  had  the 
happiest  influence  on  the  young  offenders. 

Even  the  wild  Kate  Miller  began  to  think  there  was  some- 
thing low  in  fun,  and  that  there  were  pleasures  superior  to 
gluttony  and  deceit. 


OP  THE   BELL^   CREOLE.  87 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

About  a  year  from  the  time  that  Linda  became  a  resident 
of  Rose  Rower,  the  father  of  Emily  came  to  bear  her  home. 
When  Mrs.  Reveire  solicited  a  private  interview  with  him, 
Emily  trembled^  for  she  felt  as  if  that  conversation  would  de- 
cide her  destiny. 

"  My  dear  Emily/'  said  the  lady,  entering  the  chamber  of 
her  pupil — "  be  happy.  The  extreme  worth,  growing  reputa- 
tion, and  constant  attachment  of  your  friend,  combined  with 
your  own  resignation  to  his  will,  have  induced  your  father  to 
withdraw  his  prohibition  and  consent  to  your  union.  I  lose  a 
beloved  pupil,  but  I  trust  society  will  gain  a  good,  a  noble 
woman.'' 

Emily,  with  a  burst  of  grateful  sensibility,  threw  her  arms 
around  the  neck  of  her  instructress.  '^  You  have  made  mo 
ffhat  I  am.  Your  tenderness  and  sympathy,  even  more  than 
your  wisdom  and  your  goodness,  have  influenced  my  proud 
and  wayward  nature,  and  softened  my  heart  for  the  reception 
of  truth  and  virtue.  I  owe  every  thing  to  you;  not  only  the 
happiness  of  my  future  life,  but  a  mind  and  heart  capable  of 
enjoying  it  as  I  ought." 

"  This  is  indeed  a  reward,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Reveire,  press- 
ing the  grateful  girl  to  her  bosom.  "  This  moment  would  re- 
pay me  for  life-long  cares." 

The  parting  between  Emily  and  Linda  was  tender  and 
affectionate.  "We  shall  meet  again,"  said  Emily j  "some- 
thing tells  me,  we  shall  meet  in  after  years,  and  renew  tho 
friendship  that  commenced  in  sweet  Rose  Bower.  '  Young  as 
you  are,  Linda,  you  have  taught  me  many  a  lesson  of  self- 
control,  which  I  shall  not  soon  forget.     You  do  not  know  how 


88  LINDA;   OR,   THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

mucii  those  eyes  of  yours  have  said  to  me  in  the  silence  of  oui 
little  room, — nor  how  much  my  conscience  has  been  troubled 
by  their  expressive  language.  Oh  !  if  I  ever  realize  the  hap- 
piness, whose  prospect,  even  now,  makes  my  heart  ache,  from 
the  intensity  of  its  bliss,  I  must  find  you  out,  Linda,  wherever 
you  may  be,  and  you  must  come  and  share  my  domestic 
Eden." 

Linda  gazed  on  the  glowing  counte'jiance  of  Emily,  and 
wondered  what  that  happiness  was,  which  could  thus  glorify 
the  human  face.  She  had  always  thought  Emily  handsome, 
now  she  was  transcendently  beautiful. 

The  young  heiress  tried  to  shadow  forth  her  own  future,  and 
it  was  strange,  that  whenever  the  pencil  of  imagination  began 
to  sketch  the  outline,  the  figure  of  a  youth,  flying  as  with  the 
wings  of  an  eagle,  or  lying,  with  pale  cheek,  shaded  by  the 
horse's  flowing  mane,  was  sure  to  occupy  the  foreground. 
Then,  the  vast  ocean  would  appear,  with  its  sea-green  waves, 
crested  with  dazzling  foam,  bearing  over  its  undulating  sur- 
face one  stately  vessel,  and  as  it  bowed  its  graceful  spars  and 
towering  mast  to  the  breeze,  the  same  figure,  only  taller,  and 
more  man-like,  trod  the  deck  with  the  step  of  a  master.  Or 
borne  on  the  waters  of  her  own  Alabama,  or  the  grand  Missis- 
sippi, a  boat  glided  majestically  along,  and  through  the  black 
volumes  of  smoke  that  curled  o'er  the  dark  blue  current,  that 
same  gallant  form  was  seen,  presiding,  like  a  young  Neptune, 
over  the  watery  element. 

After  the  departure  of  Emily,  one  of  the  pupils,  rather 
younger  than  Linda,  whose  name  was  Louisa,  but  universally 
called  Luta,  begged  for  the  vacant  place  in  Linda's  apartment. 
She  was  one  of  those  sweet,  loving  beings,  that  wind  like  a 
fragrant  garland  round  the  heart.  There  was  the  slightest 
possible  obliquity  in  her  soft,  violet  eye,  a  half  smile  on  her 
red,  parted  lips,  and  a  graceful  inclination  of  the  head,  like  a 
young  flower  bending  over  its  stem,  that  made  Luta  a  most 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  89 

Winning  young  creature.  Her  mind  was  not  much  expanded. 
She  seemed  all  heart,  born  to  love  and  to  be  loved.  One  even- 
ing, after  jumping  the  rope,  she  sat  on  the  grass,  and  leaned 
her  head  wearily  on  Linda^s  lap.  Her  cheeks  were  the  hue 
of  scarlet,  and  her  hands  were  dry  and  hot.  ^'  You  have 
jumped  too  long,  Luta  dear,"  said  Linda,  laying  down  her 
book,  and  passing  her  Land  tenderly  over  Luta's  burning 
cheek.  "  But  you  must  not  lie  here  on  this  dewy  grass,  when 
you  are  so  warm  and  feverish." 

^^  Oh  !  my  head  aches  so  bad,"  cried  Luta,  leaning  against 
Linda,  after  they  both  rose  from  the  ground.  The  girls  all 
left  their  play  and  gathered  anxiously  round  their  little 
favourite.  They  had  never  heard  her  complain  of  illness,  and 
a  few  moments  before  she  had  been  in  buoyant  spirits.  Mrs. 
Reveire  thought  her  indisposition  was  caused  by  too  violent  exer- 
cise, and  that  a  night's  rest  would  restore  her,  but  the  morning 
found  her  feverish  and  languid.  ^^  I  did  not  sleep  the  whole 
night,"  said  the  patient  child,  "  but  I  would  not  complain,  for 
fear  of  waking  Linda." 

A  physician  was  summoned,  who  pronounced  it  a  light  case 
of  fever,  and  left  some  gentle  prescription,  but  towards  night 
the  scarlet  cheek,  and  burning  hand,  and  aching  head  contra- 
dicted the  doctor's  assertion.  Mrs.  Reveire  became  alarmed, 
and  thought  it  her  duty  to  remove  Linda,  fearing  she  might 
be  exposed  to  the  contagion  of  a  malignant  disease.  She  took 
her  aside  and  expressed  her  fears  and  determination. 

"  Pray  don't  ask  me  to  leave  her,"  said  Linda,  entreatingly, 
'^  you  don't  know  what  a  good  nurse  I  will  make." 

"  But  your  own  health,  my  child.  Her  disease  is  assuming 
an  alarming  form,  and  I  cannot  allow  you  to  be  endangered.^'' 

"  I  have  no  mother,  to  mourn  for  me  if  I  should  die,"  uttered 
Linda,  in  a  sad  tone,  "  as  Luta  has." 

'^  But  you  have  a  kind  father." 

"Yes  !  but  that  isn't  like  a  mother.     He  mic-ht  find  soma 


90  LINDA;    OR;    THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

Other  child  to  love,  and  forget  me  hy-and-by."  She  remem- 
bered how  her  father  had  seemed  to  forget  her  dead  mother, 
and  marry  that  dreadful  woman,  and  thought  that  the  love 
of  man  was  not  enduring. 

Mrs.  Reveire  could  not  shake  Linda's  resolution,  to  re- 
main with  her  suffering  young  friend.  In  the  strength  of 
her  fearless  affection,  she  was  equal  to  the  task.  During 
the  night  Mrs.  Reveire,  who  had  a  cot  brought  in  for  the 
purpose,  remained  in  the  room,  but  when  the  duties  of  the 
day  required  her  attendance,  Luta  was  left  to  the  charge  of 
Linda,  to  whom  she  clung  closer  and  closer,  as  she  grew  more 
sick  and  suffering.  She  would  turn  the  fading  violet  of  her 
eyes  after  her  stilly  footstep,  and  hold  her  hand  in  her  burn- 
ing one,  during  her  short,  feverish  slumbers,  and  sometimes 
she  would  bend  forward  and  lean  her  hot  head  on  Linda's 
bosom,  as  if  she  found  relief  only  there. 

One  night,  as  she  lay  in  that  attitude,  so  still  that  Linda 
supposed  she  slept,  Luta  felt  tear  after  tear  falling  on  her  dry 
and  throbbing  temples.  "  What  makes  you  cry  so,  Linda  ?" 
asked  she,  trying  to  lift  her  heavy  eyes,  to  the  pitying  face 
bending  over  her. 

''  I  am  sorry  to  see  you  suffer,"  replied  Linda,  drying  with 
her  lips  the  dew  of  her  heart. 

^'  I  give  you  so  much  trouble,  and  you  are  so  good.  You 
don't  eat  or  sleep,  and  I  am  afraid  you  will  die  too." 

"  Oh  !  Luta  you  must  not  speak  so.  You  will  be  better 
Boon,  and  play  with  us  on  the  green  once  more." 

"No,"  said  the  child,  laying  her  head  back  on  the  pillow,  and 
fixing  her  eyes  mournfully  on  Linda's  face  j  "1  shall  never  sit 
under  the  oak  trees  again,  or  run  about  on  the  green  grass.  I 
shall  never  see  my  father  and  mother,  for  they  will  not  reach 
here  till  I  am  dead,  for  it's  a  long,  long  way.  Oh  !  Linda," 
continued  she,  gathering  strength  as  the  fever  burned  hotter  in 
uer  veins,  "don't  leave  me.    Stay  with  me  all  the  time.    When 


OF   THE  BELLE   CREOLE.  91 

tliej  dress  me  all  in  white  and  lay  me  in  the  dark  coffin,  you 
must  not  leave  me,  for  I  shall  be  afraid  to  be  left  alone.  And 
when  they  put  me  in  the  cold  ground,  you  must  come  and  lie 
down  by  my  side." 

The  fire  of  delirium  began  to  flash  from  her  eyes.  Trem- 
bling with  alarm,  Linda  called  Mrs.  Eeveire,  and  they  both 
watched  her  till  morning  light.  The  doctor  now  declared 
the  case  hopeless,  and  it  was  whispered  from  room  to  room 
that  Luta  was  going  to  die.  What  solemnity,  silence,  and 
gloom  pervaded  that  late  busy,  joyous  household.  The  light 
laugh  was  hushed,  the  careless  footstep  stayed,  the  foolish  jest 
heard  no  more.     Death  was  entering  the  house,  and 

"  Never  before 
Had  his  skeleton  feet  ever  trod  on  that  floor." 

Every  little  while,  a  pale  face  would  appear  at  the  half-open 
door,  and  a  low  voice  inquire  after  the  invalid,  and  then  another 
and  another,  but  Linda's  pale  face  was  always  by  the  pillow 
of  the  dying,  and  her  heart  was  taking  in  a  solemn  lesson. 

The  delirium  of  the  child  assumed  a  most  touching  charac- 
ter. '^  Please  tell  my  father  and  mother,''  she  would  earnestly 
plead,  "that  I've  been  a  good  girl.  I  didn't  go  to  Pegoy'g 
You  know  I  didn't,  Mrs.  Reveire.  You  would  not  scatter 
roses  over  me  when  I  am  dead,  if  I  had.  That  was  an  ugly 
place,  and  the  floor  was  all  swimming  with  blackness.  Tell 
them  too  how  good  Linda  is.  There's  a  pair  of  white  wings 
under  her  muslin  apron,  and,  when  I  sleep,  she  fans  me  with 
them,  so  gently— there— I  feel  them  fluttering  now.'' 

Gradually  her  ravings  died  away,  into  the^letharey  of  ap- 
proachmg  dissolution.  Then,  when  she  was  past  all  danger  of 
excitement,  Mrs.  Reveire  led  in  her  pupils  one  by  one,  to  take  a 
farewell  look  of  their  dying  companion.  Poetry  and  fiction 
may  describe  the  beauty  of  death  and  the  loneliness  of  decay 

but  the  solemn  reality  of  the  scene  belies  these  gilded  picture.? 
6 


92  LINDA;    ORj    THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

Luta  was  a  lovely  child,  one  of  tlie  fairest  of  that  youthful 
throng.  Those  half-closed,  glazed,  and  sinking  orbs,  were 
they  the  violet  eyes  through  which  the  loving  heart  so 
sweetly  shone?  Those  parched  and  blackened  lips,  those  sal- 
low, hueless  cheeks,  where  are  now  their  living  roses  ? 

"  Behold,"  says  Mrs.  Reveire,  solemnly  addressing  her 
weeping  pupils,  "  and  let  the  pride  of  youthful  confidence  no 
longer  swell  your  bosom.  She  is  going  where  we  cannot  fol- 
low her  now,  though  we  must  one  day  travel  the  same  lonely 
path.  Alone  must  she  lie  down  in  her  grave.  Alone  must 
she  stand  before  the  bar  of  Grod.  There,  we  trust  a  Saviour's 
arm  will  enfold  her — for  she  was  lovely  and  good.  But  she 
must  give  an  account  of  the  golden  opportunities  of  her  youth, 
whether  neglected  or  improved.  She  hears  me  not,  she  heeds 
me  not,  her  ear  is  dull,  and  will  soon  be  closed  with  the  dust 
of  the  grave — but  you,  my  beloved  ones,  whose  young  hearts 
still  glow  with  life  and  hope — for  you  is  the  awful  lesson  writ- 
ten, the  warning  judgment  gone  forth." 

"  And  here  is  another  lesson,"  continued  she,  laying  her 
hand  on  Linda's  drooping  head,  "  here  is  one,  younger  than 
most  of  you,  who  never  looked  on  death  before,  save  one  short 
glimpse  of  her  dead  mother's  face.  With  a  martyr's  fearless 
patience  she  has  travelled  step  by  step  with  her  young  com- 
panion down  the  dark  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death.  Her 
arms  have  enfolded,  her  love  sustained,  and  her  presence  cheer- 
ed, and  whether  she  passes  away  in  the  spring-time  of  life, 
or  lies  down  in  hoary  age,  God  will  send  his  angels  to  minister 
unto  her,  and  scatter  blessings  round  her  dying  couch."  Mrs. 
Keveire's  feelings  became  too  high-wrought  for  speech.  She 
knelt  by  the  expiring  Luta  and  bowed  her  head  on  the  bed- 
cover. 

Youthful  maiden — blooming  school-girl — for  you  this  scene 
IS  portrayed.  Have  you  ever  followed  the  cold  body  of  one 
of  your  companions  to  the  narrow  house  appointed  for  all  the 


OF    THE   BELLE    CREOLE.  93 

living  ?  Was  it  not  a  sad  spectacle,  and  did  you  not  turn  in 
agony  from  the  bright  sun  and  smiling  sky,  that  seemed  to 
shine  in  mockery  of  the  dead  ?  Did  not  your  heart  sicken  to 
see  the  flowers,  blooming  on  in  unfaded  beauty,  while  tlie 
flower  of  life  was  blighted  for  ever  ? 

The  morning  was  cloudless,  and  the  air  serene,  when  a  long 
procession  was  seen  winding  along,  through  a  shaded  avenue, 
leading  from  Rose  Bower.  Clothed  in  white,  with  sable 
badges,  they  walked  behind  the  bier,  on  which,  covered  with 
the  sweeping,  black  pall,  that  solemn  banner  of  the  grave,  was 
borne  the  remains  of  the  young,  the  innocent,  the  loving  Luta. 
They  laid  her  down  in  her  last  couch,  and  scattered  white 
roses  on  the  dark  cofiin-lid.  Then,  their  sweet,  sad  voices 
rose  in  melancholy  harmony,  chanting  a  funeral  hymn. 

^^  I  would  not  live  always — I  ask  not  to  stay,''  repeated  in 
mournful  cadence  those  youthful  voices ;  and  the  gale,  as  it 
sighed  thi'ough  the  willows  that  wept  in  that  place  of  graves 
seemed  to  echo  the  dirge-like  strains — "  I  would  not  live  al- 
ways— I  ask  not  to  stay.'' 

"  Farewell,  sweet  Luta,"  said  the  heart  of  Linda.  ^^  I 
have  stayed  by  you  when  you  lay  in  your  white  shroud 
and  your  dark  coffin.  I  must  leave  you  now  all  alone 
in  the  cold  grave ;  though,  if  God  willed  it,  I  would  gladly 
lie  down  by  your  side,  for  the  world  is  a  dreary  place."  And 
so  it  seems,  when  the  loved  and  lovely  are  taken  from  the 
sight,  and  an  awful  blank  is  left ;  but  time  passes  on,  the  world 
begins  to  look  fair  again,  and  the  waste  places  of  the  heart  to 
bloom  once  more. 


94  LINDA;    OR;  THE   YOUNG   PILOT 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Linda  on  her  homeward  journey.  Two  years  have  passed 
since  she  left  Pinegrove,  and  she  and  Eobert  are  to  meet 
during  the  holidaj^s  at  their  own  home.  Little  reason  as  she 
had  to  love  the  home  where  her  stepmother  presided,  she 
could  not  but  anticipate  with  pleasure  the  return  to  familiar 
scenes,  associated  with  the  memories  of  her  earliest  childhood. 
She  wanted  to  see  how  Robert  looked  now  he  was  nineteen, 
almost  a  man,  and  wondered  whether  he  would  treat  her  as 
kindly  as  he  did  just  before  they  parted.  But  far  more  than 
all,  she  longed  to  see  the  cottage  on  the  hill,  where  the  gentle 
Mrs.  Lee  and  the  brave  Roland  dwelt. 

''  Did  you  stop  there  as  you  came  V  asked  Linda  of  her 
father,  as  they  drew  near  the  memorable  spot. 

^'  No,  I  was  too  anxious  to  see  my  child,''  replied  Mr.  "Wal- 
ton ;  "  but  we  will  call  now,  and  inquire  after  our  gallant 
young  friend," 

Linda's  heart  beat  quick  when,  through  an  opening  in 
the  trees,  she  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  well-known  mansion ; 
'"ut  the  hospitable  door  was  shut,  the  windows  closed,  and 
the  grass  grew  rank  about  the  threshold. 

^'  Oh,  father,"  cried  Linda,  pale  with  disappointment  and 
apprehension,  "  there's  nobody  here  !  What  has  become  of 
them?" 

"  They  have  probably  removed,"  replied  her  father.  ^'  Mrs. 
Lee  told  me  she  thought  of  doing  so.  I  am  very  sorry,  for  I 
really  loved  that  boy,  and  his  mother  was  a  lady  in  every 
sense  of  the  word.  Let  us  walk  round  the  lot,  and  see  if  we 
can  find  any   one,   who   c&n  give  us  information  of  them.'' 

Linda  eagerly  sprang  from  the  carriage,  and  sought  the 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  95 

paths  now  partly  overgrown  with  weeds,  which  she  and  Ro- 
land had  together  traced.  She  looked  for  the  mocking-birds' 
nest ;  but  the  vines  coiled  like  huge  serpents  over  the  hollow 
where  their  young  tendrils  once  made  a  fairy  bower.  Linda 
gazed  sadly  on  the  changes  time  and  neglect  had  wrought, 
when  her  eye  suddenly  lighted  up.  What  was  it  she  saw  on 
the  gray,  mossy  stone,  leaning  like  a  broken  pillar  against  the 
tree  ?  Her  own  name,  rudely  but  distinctly  carved.  Her 
first  sensation  was  delight  that  Roland  had  not  forgotten  her ; 
but  that  old,  mossy  tablet  looked  so  much  like  a  tombstone  in 
the  midst  of  the  silence  and  loneliness  that  she  could  not  bear 
to  linger  near  it.  She  saw  the  waters  of  the  creek  where  Ro- 
land had  launched  his  bark  canoe,  gleaming  in  the  sunshine, 
and  she  persuaded  her  father  to  let  her  ramble  to  its  banks, 
while  he  remained  near  the  deserted  cottage.  She  found  the 
bark  canoe  moored  in  a  little  cove,  formed  by  the  shade  of 
the  silver- trunked  beech.  Again  Linda's  eye  sparkled,  for 
strangely  eloquent,  in  that  still  spot,  her  own  name  spoke 
again  and  again  from  the  smooth,  white  bark.  Even  on 
the  darkened  birch  of  the  canoe  she  could  read  the  same 
characters.  The  solitude  seemed  vocal  with  the  name  of 
Linda.  But  where  was  the  hand  that  had  traced  those  rustic 
letters — where  the  arm  broken  for  their  deliverance  ?  Linda 
turned  away  with  a  sigh,  and  for  many  a  mile  she  rode  in 
silence  at  her  father's  side. 

'^  Oh,  how  natural  every  thing  looks  I"  exclaimed  Linda 
when,  at  her  journey's  close,  she  beheld  her  own  home  after 
an  absence  of  two  years  ;  her  first  absence,  and  how  long  it 
seemed  in  the  retrospect !  "  Can  this  be  Robert  ?"  thought 
she,  as  a  tall  and  very  handsome  youth  eagerly  approached 
the  carriage-door  to  assist  her  in  alighting.  The  question 
was  answered  by  the  young  man's  catching  her  in  his  arms, 
and  giving  a  welcome  so  cordial  that  her  cheeks  were  cuvere'i 
vfith  blushes. 


96  LINDA}    OR,  THE   YOUNG    PILOT 

"  Wty,  Linda,  how  pretty,  how  very  pretty  you  are  !"  ex- 
daimcd  Robert,  fixing  his  bold,  black  eyes,  sparkling  with 
unafi"ected  admiration,  on  his  youthful  step-sister.  ^^  Olij 
puella  carissima!  as  Aristides  would  most  feelingly  remark, 
you  are  more  than  welcome  to  old  Pinegrove." 

"  And  what  a  tall  gentleman  and  expert  flatterer  Master 
Robert  is  become  !"  answered  Linda,  smilingly.  "  But,  pray, 
tell  me  if  you  have  heard  any  thing  of  oui*  dear,  good,  non- 
pareil of  a  schoolmaster  V 

"  Yes,  I  met  a  gentleman  at  the  university,  just  returned 
from  Cuba,  who  knew  our  sapient  teacher  very  well.  His 
health  was  amending,  and  he  was  quoting  Latin  more  fu- 
riously than  ever.  Honour  to  Aristides  wherever  he  may  be. 
If  he  had  not  whipped  a  little  of  the  offending  Adam  out  of 
me,  I  should  have  grown  up  the  veriest  bear  in  the  universe. 
Ah,  Linda,  did  you  not  think  me  a  horrible  young  monster 
when  I  first  came  among  you  V 

Linda  had  now  reached  the  threshold,  which  was  still  .^ 
guarded  by  the  faithful  Bruno.  Chained  to  his  old  block,  he* 
lay  shaggy  and  massy,  and  apparently  half  asleep  ]  but  there 
was  a  bright  look  of  recognition  in  his  intelligent  eyes,  and 
a  quivering  motion  of  his  huge  paws,  when  Linda  came  near 
him.  ''  Ah,  Bruno,  you  have  not  forgotten  me,"  cried  his 
young  mistress,  joyfully  patting  his  broad  head.  "You 
remember  the  biscuits  I  tossed  into  that  large  mouth.''  She 
checked  herself,  fearing  she  was  betraying  the  secret  of  her 
night-ramble ;  but  she  had  so  often  fed  Bruno  that  no  one 
knew  to  what  she  referred. 

Linda  thought  the  eyebrows  of  Mrs.  Walton  looked  whiter 
and  more  highly  arched  than  ever ;  that  her  lips  looked  more 
pinched  and  cold,  for  she  compared  her  to  the  loved  image  of 
Mrs.  Reveire,  treasured  in  her  heart,  and  there  were  but  few 
who  would  not  suffer  by  the  comparison.  She  evidently  tried 
to  b:*  gracious,  and  Linda  was  grateful  for  the  effort,  and  gave 


OP   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  97 

her  real  heart-smiles  in  return  for  the  little,  pale  gleams  of 
kindness  that  lighted  up  her  stony  eyes.  The  negroes  gave 
her  a  rapturous  welcome.  Aunt  Judy  had  been  allowed  to 
come  over  and  be  present  at  the  first  greeting.  When  Linda, 
half-wild  with  excitement,  was  running  about  the  yard,  look- 
ing for  the  ducks,  chickens,  and  geese,  Judy  took  her  aside, 
for  her  heart  was  brimming  over,  and  was  really  aching 
from  its  fulness.  She  caught  the  hands  of  her  pet-child,  first 
one  and  then  the  other,  and  pressed  her  African  lips  upon 
their  snow ;  then  leaning  her  tall,  white  turban  against  the 
garden  railing,  sobbed  aloud  : 

"  Oh,  Lord  a  mercy !  bless  her  and  presarve  her  for  ever 
and  ever !  And  did  the  blessed  child  think  so  much  of  poor, 
good-for-nothing  old  nigger  as  to  go  all  living  alone  through 
the  woods,  when  all  dark  as  pitch,  to  get  good  massa  to  buy 
and  take  care  of  poor  Judy  ?  Lord,  bless  her !  I  never 
knew  'bout  it  when  she  went  away,  or  I'd  crawled  on  my 
hands  and  knees  arter  to  kiss  the  dust  of  her  feet ;  and  now 
she  came  back  so  pretty  and  so  good.  Oh !  if  poor,  dear 
missus  was  but  live  to  see  it  V 

"  Pray,  Aunt  Judy,''  cried  Linda,  smiling  through  the 
tears  the  afiectionate  and  grateful  creature  had  brought  to  her 
eyes ;  "  pray,  don't  eat  my  hands  up ;  and,  pray,  don't  make 
me  cry  and  look  ugly,  when  I've  just  got  home  and  everybody 
is  staring  at  me  so  hard.'^ 

'^  Young  missus  look  puty  any  way — no  matter  if  she  cry 
her  eye  out  her  head,  she  look  sweet ;  the  Lord  bless  her  little 
soul !" 

"  Mr.  Marshall  has  turned  traitor,  I  see,"  said  Linda,  "  an 
broken  his  promise ;  but  say  no  more  about  it.  Aunt  Judy — 
it  is  not  worth  the  thanking.  Instead  of  being  as  dark  as 
pitch,  it  was  as  bright  as  day,  and  the  fairies  were  hoppiuij 
among  the  pine  trees,  keeping  me  company  the  whole  way. 
Then  I  had  such  a  nice  ride  home  with  Mr.  Marshall.     You 


98  LINDA  ;    OR;  THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

don't  "know  how  grand  I  felt.  He  is  a  kind  master,  is  lie  not, 
Judy  V 

"  Oh,  yes,  missy,  the  best  massa  ever  was.  But,  when 
young  missy  get  married,  Judy  come  and  live  with  her  all 
her  born  days." 

^'  That  will  be  a  long  time  to  come,"  said  the  young  girl ; 
and  Robert  came  to  lead  her  into  the  house. 

"  I  know  what  Massa  Robert  got  in  his  head,"  muttered  the 
negro,  following  them  with  her  eyes  and  shaking  her  head 
significantly.  '^  I  know  what  new,  old  missus  got  in  her  head 
too, — nigger  see  a  heap  they  an't  thinking  of.  But  the  Lord 
never  meant  them  two  come  together.  Millennium  time  an't 
here  yet,  and  lions  and  lambs  don't  get  in  the  same  pen. 
Massa  Robert  sure  enough !  'Fore  he  my  massa,  I  see  him 
eat  alive  fust !" 

When  Lindar  retired  for  the  night,  and  Nelly  ushered  her 
into  one  of  the  company  rooms,  always  kept  so  carefully  swept 
and  garnished,  she  said  laughingly  to  her  attendant,  "  You 
have  mistaken  the  room,  Nelly.  I  don't  see  the  old  rafter«, 
and  cobwebs,  and  little,  red  pine-table.  You  must  think  I  am 
company." 

^'  And  so  she  be,"  said  Nelly,  grinning ;  "  you  no  sleep  in 
that  old  hole  any  more.  Missus  got  it  full  of  dried  fruit  and 
cotton,  and  a  heap  o'  things  besides.  It  no  fit  for  you  any 
how,  and  she  ought  to  be  'shamed  of  hisself  to  put  yju 
there." 

"  Has  she  put  Robert  in  my  little  room  again  ?"  asked 
Linda. 

"  No,  he  too  big  for  that  this  time.  He  mad  as  fire,  when 
he  think  on't,  I  'spect  now." 

Linda  was  far  happier  at  home  than  she  expected  to  be. 
Her  step-mother  was  mysteriously  polite,  and  Robert  more 
ihan  kind.  They  enjoyed  together  all  the  amusements  a 
ccmutry  residence  afiurdcd.     Every  day  he  acconipanied  her 


01    THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  99 

on  horscbackj  through  the  woods,  whose  pure,  resinous  odours 
she  delighted  to  inhale.  Robert  was  a  noble,  fearless  rider, 
and  as  he  dashed  along  on  his  spirited  steed,  his  long,  black 
locks  flying  back  from  his  brow,  Linda  could  not  help  admir- 
ing his  equestrian  graces,  though  she  wished  he  would  be  more 
gentle  to  the  horses,  and  not  show  such  superfluous  fierceness 
of  manner  in  disciplining  them.  She  wished,  too,  he  would 
not  praise  her  so  much,  and  tell  her  how  pretty  she  was,  and 
what  a  beautiful  woman  she  was  going  to  be.  She  thought  it 
very  silly  in  him, — her  own  step-brother. 

One  day,  as  they  were  riding  slowly  along  over  a  sandy 
path,  Robert  turned  to  her  very  abruptly, — 

"  What's  the  reason,  Linda,  you  never  told  me  about  that 
farmer  boy,  who  stopped  your  carriage  on  the  way  to  perdi- 
tion V 

"What  more  have  I  to  tell,  but  that  he  saved  our  lives  at 
a  fearful  risk  to  himself!"  said  Linda,  blushing. 

"  Well,  I  don't  see  any  thing  in  the  question  to  make  you 
blush,"  said  Robert,  pettishly.  "  Wasn't  he  a  great,  coarse, 
vulgar-looking  boy, — dressed  in  homespun  and  red  brogans  V 

"  No,  indeed,"  answered  Linda,  angry  at  the  sneering  man- 
ner of  Robert.  "  There  was  nothing  coarse  or  vulgar  about 
him.  It  was  easy  enough  to  see  he  was  a  gentleman's  son. 
His  dress  might  have  been  of  domestic  manufacture,  but  it 
did  not  disgrace  him,  or  prevent  him  from  looking  hand- 
some." 

"  You  seem  to  admire  the  young  gentleman  exceedingly." 

"One  would  think  you  thought  my  life  of  little  value, 
to  hear  the  scornful  way  in  which  you  speak  of  my  de- 
liverer." 

"  It  is  because  I  value  it  so  much,  Linda,  that  I  cannot 
bear  to  think  it  was  rescued  by  that  plebeian  boy." 

Linda's  spirit  was  roused — an  expression  of  unutterarjle 
disdain  curled  the  young  roses  of  her  lips. 


100  LINDA ;    OR,  THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

"  That  plcbeiaD  boy/'  she  cried,  '^  as  you  are  pleased  to  call 
him,  Robert,  is  one  of  Nature's  noblemen.  He  is  your  equal 
in  every  thing  but  fortune;  and  far  more  than  equal,  for  he 
does  not  depend  upon  such  poor  things  as  money  and  birth  to 
lift  him  up  in  the  world.  I  tell  you  he  is  a  gentleman,  and 
I  shall  despise  any  one  who  contradicts  me  after  this.  There,'' 
she  added,  laughing  and  looking  back,  as  she  urged  her  horse 
into  a  canter, — "  haven't  I  made  a  fine  speech  V 

Robert  bit  his  lip  with  vexation,  but  he  had  never  ad- 
mired Linda  so  much  before.  Jealousy  began  to  mingle  with 
his  dawning  passion,  and  the  more  difficult  the  object  appeared 
of  attainment,  the  more  precious  it  seemed  in  his  estimation. 
As  he  rode  along,  silent  and  gloomy,  Linda  felt  sorry  that  she 
had  spoken  with  so  much  warmth. 

"  Let  us  shake  hands,  brother  Robert,  and  not  quarrel  any 
more.  It  is  not  likely  I  shall  ever  see  Roland  Lee  again,  but 
I  must  ever  think  of  him  with  gratitude  and  respect.'^ 

*'  1  wish  you  would  not  call  me  brother,"  said  Robert.  ^^  I 
am  no  more  brother  of  yours  than  this  famous  Roland  is." 

"Really  you  are  very  strange,  Mr.  Robert  Graham.  Is 
that  respectful  enough  to  suit  your  majesty?" 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  be  respectful.  I  want  you  to  be  more 
affectionate,  more  familiar  than  ever ;  but,  for  heaven's  sake, 
stop  calling  me  brother." 

Linda  looked  with  astonishment — almost  fear — upon  Ro- 
bert. His  manners  were  so  strange,  his  colour  so  high,  and 
his  voice  so  excited.  Surely  he  could  not  be  intoxicated. 
Yet,  what  could  be  the  cause  of  his  singular  behaviour  ? 

"  Linda,"  said  he,  seizing  her  bridle  with  one  hand,  so  as  to 
check  the  rapid  motion  of  her  horse ;  "  you  and  I  are  getting 
old  enough  to  understand  each  other.  I  am  nineteen,  and 
you  are  fourteen,  are  you  not  ?" 

"  Yes,— but  what  of  that  ?" 

"  Why.  in  two  years  I  shall  be  twenty-one,  and  you  will  be 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  101 

sixteen.  I  shall  have  left  college  and  you  Kose  Bower ;  and 
then  we  shall  both  be  thinking  of  getting  married.'' 

Linda,  who  dreamed  not  of  the  application  of  his  words, 
laughed  till  the  green  woods  rang. 

"  Married  !  I  hope  you  don't  think  I'm  such  a  silly  littlo 
girl  as  to  have  such  ridiculous  ideas  in  my  head.  Mrs.  Reveire 
taught  me  something  better  than  that.  Why  !  I  am  nothing 
but  a  child,  and  haven't  left  off  my  bib  aprons  yet." 

"  You  are  not  such  a  child  but  what  you  can  understand 
what  I  mean,  if  you  choCise,"  cried  Robert,  colouring  still 
deeper,  for  he  knew  he  was  taking  a  bold  step,  though  often 
prompted  by  his  mother.  '^I  mean  that  in  two  years  you 
will  be  old  enough  to  marry,  and  I  want  you  to  promise  to 
marry  me.  That  is  the  reason  I  don't  want  you  to  call  me 
brother  any  more.'' 

"  Robert,  for  mercy's  sake,  don't  talk  in  that  way,"  cried 
Linda,  terrified  by  this  astounding  declaration,  though  she 
could  not,  would  not,  believe  him  in  earnest.  ^'I  won't  let 
you  speak  so  to  me.     It  is  wicked." 

^^  Where  is  the  wickedness  ?"  cried  he,  vehemently,  grow- 
ing bolder  now  the  revelation  was  made.  ^^  Why  haven't  I  a 
right  to  love  you  as  well  as  anybody  else  ?  I  don't  want  you 
to  marry  me  now,  for  we  are  both  too  young ;  but  in  two 
years  from  this  time,  I  declare  to  you,  Linda  Walton,  by  the 
heaven  above  and  the  earth  beneath,  that  you  shall  be  the 
wife  of  Robert  Graham." 

"Let  go  my  bridle,  sir,"  cried  Linda,  frightened,  indig- 
nant, and  bewildered  at  this  strange  scene.  "  I'll  tell  my 
father,  and  you  will  not  dare  to  talk  to  me  in  that  way  any 
more." 

"  Your  father  and  my  mother  know  it  already.  That  is, 
they  are  anxious  that  we  should  be  married  in  a  few  years. 
And  as  I  shall  not  see  you  for  a  long  time  after  this,  I  wag 
determined  I  would  not  let  you  go  without  telling  you  how 


102  ltnpa;  OR;  the  youxg  pilot 

much  I  loved  you,  for  I  do  love  you,  Linda,  better  than  any 
brother  could  love,  for  all  I  used  to  treat  you  so  shamefully.'' 

Her  father  wished  it — 3Irs.  Walton  too  !  Linda  felt  as  if 
in  the  coils  of  a  serpent,  whose  folds  must  tighten  round  her. 
If  Mrs.  Walton  willed  it,  her  doom  was  sealed.  Too  young, 
too  innocent,  too  child-like  to  think  of  marriage  with  any  one — 
the  idea'  of  it,  associated  with  Robert,  filled  her  with  horror. 
She  was  beginning  to  like  him  as  a  brother ;  now  she  could 
not  help  hating  him.  She  could  not  bear  to  be  with  him 
alone  in  the  woods.  She  made  her  horse  go  faster,  till  at  last 
she  urged  it  into  a  furious  gallop. 

"  Linda,  Linda,  you  will  be  thrown  off,  if  you  ride  so  furi- 
ously," exclaimed  Robert,  again  trying  to  catch  hold  of  the 
bridle.  But  Linda  flew  on,  without  looking  on  the  right,  or 
on  the  left.  She  wanted  to  be  at  home,  in  her  own  room,  far 
away  from  Robert's  terrible  black  eyes. 

"  What  a  race  you  two  are  running,"  said  Mr.  Walton,  as 
they  came  galloping  into  the  yard,  and  the  animals,  flecked 
with  foam,  stood  panting  and  quivering  under  the  trees. 
*'  This  is  not  safe,  Robert ;  you  must  take  better  care  of  Linda 
than  this." 

"  I  tried  to  restrain  her,  but  she  would  not  let  me,"  replied 
Robert,  stooping  down,  as  if  to  examine  the  girth. 

^'  Take  me  down,  quick,  father ;  I  am  very  dizzy,"  cried 
Linda,  impatiently ;  but  before  her  father  could  reach  her,  she 
tossed  the  reins  and  sprang  from  the  saddle ;  then  running  up 
Btairs,  closed  the  door,  threw  herself  on  the  bed,  and  burst 
into  a  passionate  fit  of  weeping.  All  her  happiness  was  fled ; 
her  holiday  enjoyments  at  an  end;  the  sweet  confidence  of 
childhood  gone  for  ever.  She  knew  something  of  the  spirits 
with  which  she  had  to  deal.  The  imbecility  of  her  father,  the 
despotism  of  ]Mrs.  Walton,  the  bold  reckless  determination  of 
Robert :  she  knew  them  all.  Every  feeling  in  her  heart  roso 
in  rebellion  against  the  idea  of  such  a  union.     It  seemed 


OP   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  103 

more  tHan  unnatural — sacrilegious  in  her  eyes.  She  had  been 
so  long  accustomed  to  look  upon  Robert  in  the  relation  of  a 
brother,  she  shrunk  as  much  from  any  other  tie  as  if  she  were 
really  bound  to  him  by  the  ties  of  consanguinity. 

Oh !  that  Mrs.  Reveire  were  near,  that  she  might  fly  to 
her  for  sympathy  and  counsel.  Oh  !  that  she  had  never  left 
the  guardian  shades  of  Rose  Bower. 

Linda  refused  to  go  to  the  supper-table,  on  the  plea  of  a 
violent  headache,  no  false  excuse  in  her  case,  for  her  temples 
throbbed  and  burned  as  violently  as  poor  Luta's  did,  when 
the  fever  began  to  rage  in  her  veins. 

"  Won't  you  have  a  cup  of  tea,  Linda  V  asked  Mrs.  Wal- 
ton's soft,  hissing  voice.  Linda  started.  She  had  not  heard 
the  opening  of  the  door.     How  had  the  serpent  glided  in  ? 

"  Well,  I  will  not  force  you,"  said  Mrs.  Walton,  placing 
the  cup  on  the  table,  and  taking  a  seat  by  the  bed.  Linda 
plunged  her  head  between  two  pillows,  so  as  to  shut  out  sight 
and  sound,  but  in  vain.  That  thin,  peculiar  voice  could  in- 
sinuate itself  through  any  barrier. 

"  Robert  tells  me  he  has  frightened  you,"  said  the  voice. 
"  I  thought  you  had  more  sense  than  to  behave  so  like  a  mere 
child.  I  should  think  you  would  be  proud  and  glad  to  think 
you  were  going  to  have  such  a  handsome,  smart,  and  rich  hus- 
band as  Robert.  I  am  sure  any  lady  in  the  land  might  jump 
at  such  a  chance." 

"  I  don't  want  Robert  for  a  husband,"  sobbed  Linda.     "  I 
don't   want  anybody  for  a  husband.     Mrs.  Reveire  always 
said  we  mustn't  think  of  the  boys  while  we  were  at  school 
and  I  have  two  years  to  go  yet." 

"  Linda,  you  are  not  the  simpleton  you  are  pretending  to 
be,"  cried  Mrs.  Walton,  pulling  the  pillows  from  her  face. 
"  It  is  proper  you  should  know  our  plans,  and  you  have  reason 
to  feel  honoured  and  happy  in  the  prospect  of  this  projected 
union.'* 


104  LINDA;    OR;    THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

"  But  what  is  the  reason  you  are  in  such  a  hurry  ?"  cried 
fiinda,  with  sudden  animation.  "  Why  can't  I  wait  till  I  am 
old  enough  to  choose  for  myself?  What  good  will  it  do  you 
or  father  for  me  to  marry  llobert  ?  Tell  me,  for  I  want  to 
know." 

^'  Robert  is  rich,  and  you  have  a  large  fortune.  We  wish 
jr,  unite  them.  An  all-sufficient  reason,  and  one  which  you 
will  find  shall  outweigh  every  other.'' 

"  Fortune !"  repeated  Linda,  her  eyes  flashing  scornfully 
through  her  tears.  "  Let  him  take  my  fortune,  if  that  is  what 
you  want.  I  wish  I  were  the  poorest  girl  in  the  south-west, 
if  I  must  be  bought  and  sold  like  a  negro  slave.  But  I  never 
will  be.     I  never  will  enter  into  your  mercenary  scheme." 

^'  Miss  Linda  Walton,"  said  Mrs.  Walton,  the  white  heat 
beginning  to  gleam  from  her  eyes,  ^'  you  are  not  to  address 
me  in  that  manner.  You  had  better  submit  at  once,  or  you 
will  find  to  your  cost,  what  it  is  to  resist  my  authority,  or 
oppose  my  will." 

"  I  will  resist  it  at  any  cost,"  cried  Linda,  springing  from 
the  bed,  and  looking  wildly  around  her.  ^^  Where  is  my  fa- 
ther ?  Let  me  go  to  my  father !"  continued  she,  more  vehe- 
mently, as  Mrs.  Walton  placed  her  back  against  the  door,  and 
fixed  upon  her  a  glance,  before  which  a  weaker  spirit  would 
have  quailed  in  terror. 

"  What  good  will  it  do  you  to  go  to  your  father  ?"  exclaim- 
ed the  inflexible  step-mother.  ^'  Has  he  ever  dared  to  coun- 
termand my  decrees?  Have  you  ever  seen  him  do  it? 
Have  you  ever  seen  any  one  do  it  ?  No !  nor  you  never 
will." 

"  I  dare  to  do  it,"  cried  the  child,  with  an  undaunted  air, 
"and  I  will  do  it.     I  have  submitted  to  your  tyranny  long 
enough,  you   pitiless  woman.     I've  felt  the  marks  of  your 
lash  on  my  shoulders.    I  slept  for  years  in  a  room  3^ou" scarcely' 
thought  g(jod  enough  for  a  slave.     You  sent  away  from  me 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  "^  105 

my  faitliful  old  nurse.  You  ruled  me  with  a  rcid  of  iron,  and 
I  did  not  complain.  But  I  will  bear  no  more.  I  will  not  be 
trafficked  away  in  this  vile  manner.  If  my  father  does  not 
protect  me,  I  will  appeal  to  the  laws,  and  they  shall." 

Mrs.  Walton  started.  "Was  this  the  sobbing,  terrified 
child  she  had  found  buried  in  pillows,  and  shrinking  from 
her  sight  ?  She  looked  taller,  older,  standing  so  resolute  and 
.fearless  before  her.  The  step-mother  did  not  waver  in  her 
purpose,  but  she  began  to  think  she  might  push  matters  too 
far.  She  had  no  conception  that  Linda  had  such  a  spirit  in 
her  bosom  yet,  after  having  been  under  her  discipline  so 
long. 

^'  I  do  not  wish  my  house  to  be  made  a  scene  of  uproar  and 
confusion,"  she  added.  ^'  Let  nothing  more  be  said  about  it 
at  present.  It  will  be  time  enough  to  make  a  fuss  about  it 
two  years  hence.  Remember,  there  is  to  be  silence  on  this 
subject  now.  For  the  peace  of  the  household,  I  am  even  will- 
ing to  overlook  your  rebellious,  undutiful,  and  ungrateful  be- 
haviour." 

^'  Ungrateful !"  repeated  Linda.  "  Tell  me  what  gratitude 
I  owe  you.  What  motherly  tenderness  have  you  ever  be- 
5towed  upon  me  ?  I  wanted  to  love  you,  and  you  would  not 
,3t  me  do  it.  You  would  not  let  my  father  love  me.  You 
iried  to  keep  everybody  from  loving  me.  You  made  me 
jvant  to  lie  down  in  my  mother's  grave  and  die.  Am  I  to  be 
grateful  for  all  this  ?" 

"  I  know  what  gratitude  to  expect  from  step-daughters," 
answered  Mrs.  Walton,  with  livid  lips.  "  I  found  you  a  pas- 
sionate, spoiled,  and  self-willed  child,  and  I  taught  you  the 
manners  of  a  lady.  I  took  you  away  from  the  negroes,  and 
made  you  sit  by  my  own  side ;  and  now,  because  I  want  to 
give  you  my  own  son,  a  son  of  whom  any  mother  in  the  uni- 
verse might  be  proud,  you  look  as  if  you  would  trample  me 
under  your  feet,  and  address  me  as  you  would  not  dare  to  do 


J06  LINDA;   OR,    THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

a  siriL'lc  slave  on  the  plantation."  Mrs.  "Walton  glided 
through  the  door,  which  she  closed  as  softly  as  if  thej  had 
been  talking  about  roses. 

"  Yes,"  thought  Linda,  with  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling, 
and  sinking  into  a  chair ;  "  I  was  a  passionate  and  wayward 
child.  I  did  not  deserve  to  be  loved.  If  I  had  not  been 
tyrannized  over,  I  should  have  been  a  tyrant  myself.  I  have 
reason  to  be  grateful  to  her,  since  she  saved  me  from  myself. 
And  even  now,  what  violent  passions  have  I  displayed !  What 
bitter  reproaches  have  I  heaped  upon  her !  I  should  not  have 
forgotten  that  she  is  my  father's  wife !  Oh  !  Mrs.  Reveire, 
how  would  your  clear,  serene  eye  have  rebuked  your  pnpil, 
Lad  you  beheld  her  a  few  moments  ago." 

Thus  Linda  communed  with  her  own  heart,  and  became 
wise.  While  freely  condemning  herself,  she  became  lenient 
in  her  judgment  of  others.  It  was  very  true  what  Mrs.  Wal- 
ton had  said,  that  it  would  be  time  enough  to  make  a  resist- 
ance two  years  hence.  She  had  promised  her  that  nothing 
more  should  be  said  upon  the  subject  at  present,  and  she 
would  endeavour  to  banish  it  from  her  remembrance.  And 
Robert,  too ;  how  harshly  she  had  treated  him,  for  daring  to 
tell  her  that  he  loved  her  better  than  a  brother.  She  would 
not  have  used  such  threatening  language,  had  she  been  calm 
and  gentle  as  she  ought  to  have  been. 

The  next  morning  (every  one  knows  the  reviving  influence 
of  a  morning  sunshine)  Linda  came  down  with  pale  cheeks 
and  a  dark  shade  under  her  eyes,  but  with  a  quiet,  gentle  air, 
and  endeavoured  to  appear  as  if  nothing  had  occurred  the 
previous  evening.  She  could  not  help  blushing  painfully 
when  bhc  met  Robert's  eye,  and  it  was  not  strange,  for 

"As  the  bolt  bursts  on  high 

From  the  black  cloud  that  bounds  it, 
Flashed  the  soul  of  that  eye 
Through  the  long  lashes  round  it," 


OP   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  107 

Its  hue  was  the  blackness  of  darkness,  and  its  expression 
powerful. 

It  is  not  to  he  supposed  that  the  extreme  agitation  of  hil 
daughter  had  been  unnoticed  by  Mr.  Walton,  or  that  its  cause 
was  unknown.     He  imputed  it,  however,  more  to  surprise 
than  repugnance  ;  and,  when  his  wife  told  him  that  it  was  best 
to  say  nothing  to  Linda  on  the  subject  at  present,  he  yielded^ 
with  his  usual  pliability,  to  her  stronger  will.     When  Mrs. 
Walton  first  expressed  her  determination    that  Eobert  and 
Linda  should  be  united  at  an  early  age,  he  was  startled  by 
the^  unexpectedness  of  the  suggestion ;    but,   when  she   ex- 
plained the  worldly  policy  of  the  scheme,  he  acknowledged 
its  wisdom.     Robert  was  no  longer  a  rude,  boisterous  boy, 
but  a  handsome  and  talented  youth,  and  whatever  moral  de- 
fects  he   might  have,  time  would  correct.     Ah  !  time  does 
wondrous  things.     It  reconciles  the  beast  to  the  burden— the 
ox  to  the  yoke— even  the  lordly  lion  to  the  bars  of  his  cage. 
It  had  reconciled  Mr.  Walton  to  his  domestic  bondage.    Years 
of  vassalage  had  blunted  his  finer  sensibilities  and  deadened 
his  nicer  perceptions.     It  is  true,  in  the  cottage  of  Mrs.  Lee 
he  had  displayed  extreme  delicacy  in  putting  his  gift  in  the 
leaves  of  the  family  Bible;  but  his  wife  was  not  present. 
When  removed  from  the  atmosphere  of  home,  some  sparks  of 
native  manliness  would  flash  forth ;  but  thej  were  becoming 
fainter  and  fainter — fewer  and  farther  between. 

Robert's  vacation  terminated  sooner  than  Linda's,  and  it 
now  drew  to  a  close.  Notwithstanding  her  endeavours  to 
treat  him  as  she  had  always  done,  there  had  been  coldness 
and  constraint  between  them.  Robert  had  usually  passed  his 
days  in  hunting,  and  his  evenings  in  reading  or  sullen  silence. 
He  either  resented  the  strong  repugnance  she  had  manifested, 
or  was  acting  under  an  influence  stronger  than  his  own  pas- 
sions. It  was  the  last  evening  of  his  stay.  Linda  sat  on  the 
Bteps  of  the  piazza.      Robert  came  and  stood  by  the  pillar 


108  LINDA;    OR,    THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

nirainst  which  she  leaned.  The  stars  had  come  out  one  by 
one,  till  they  made  as  glorious  a  company  as  when  they  sang 
tr»«^ether  in  the  mominf'  of  creation,  and  all  the  sons  of  God 
sliouted  for  joy;  and  just  in  the  vista,  formed  by  the  dividing 
branches  of  two  lofty  trees,  the  young  moon  was  seen  hang- 
ing her  silver  crescent  on  the  dark-blue  sky. 

"  Wish,  Robert,"  said  Linda ;  ^'  the  moon  is  shining  over 
your  right  shoulder.     "Wish  for  a  safe  and  pleasant  jouniey." 

''  I'd  wish  for  something  better  than  that,  or  not  at  all." 

"  Then  I  will  wish  for  you,"  cried  Linda,  with  a  touch  of 
her  former  playfulness.  ^'  Oh,  kind  young  moon,  watch  over 
tlie  traveller,  and  guard  him  from  all  wild  beasts,  runaway 
negroes,  and  runaway  horses  likewise." 

"  I  did  not  think  you  wished  me  so  much  good,  Linda," 
replied  Robert,  with  animation.  "  Come,  let  us  go  where 
those  two  trees  seem  trying  to  catch  the  moon  between  them. 
It  will  be  a  long  time  before  we  walk  together  again." 

He  took  her  hand  and  led  her  down  the  steps.  She  did 
not  like  to  walk  alone  with  Robert ;  neither  did  she  like  to 
make  him  angry,  when  he  was  to  leave  her  so  soon.  Perhaps 
he  might  die  during  the  two  coming  years,  and  for  ever  dole- 
ful to  her  heart  would  be  the  remembrance  of  unkindness  ex- 
hibited in  the  parting  hour.  "  No,"  thought  she,  while  her 
hand  trembled  in  the  grasp  of  his  ;  "  let  him  say  what  he 
will,  I  will  be  gentle  in  return,  for  who  knows  what  will  hap- 
pen before  we  meet  again  ?" 

"  I  don't  wonder  you  are  afraid  of  me,  Linda,"  said  Robert, 
abruptly.  ""^A^hen  I  think  what  a  rough,  greedy,  selfish, 
young  monster  I  used  to  be,  I  am  ashamed  to  look  you  in  the 
face.  You  remember  the  whipping  the  sapient  Aristides  gave 
mo?  I  know  yua  do ;  and  do  you  recollect  the  pitying  shower 
of  tears  you  shed  over  my  disgrace  ?  I  don't  know  which  had 
the  greatest  effect  upon  me,  the  lashes  or  the  tears.  Justice 
was  administering  the  punishment,  and  pity  was  dropping 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  109 

balm  into  the  wounds.  I  th ought  you  from  that  moment  a 
little  angel.  I  had  abused  and  tormented  you  so  shamefully, 
you  ought  to  have  laughed  at  my  smarting  back." 

"  Oh,  Robert,  how  could  you  think  me  so  vindictive  ?" 

"  I  did  not  think  you  so ;  but  you  should  have  hated  me. 
Well,  I  resolved  to  be  a  man  instead  of  a  brute.  I  found  out 
that  I  had  a  mind  and  a  heart  buried  in  a  mass  of  inert  mat- 
ter. It  was  a  great  discovery.  Since  then,  I  think  I  have 
changed  as  much  in  the  inner  as  the  outer  man."  And  Ro- 
bert passed  his  hand  over  his  long,  black  locks,  shading  them 
back  from  his  forehead. 

"  Robert  thinks  himself  very  handsome,"  said  Linda  to 
herself,  "  and  so  he  is." 

»^  Well,  no  matter,"  continued  he,  "  about  the  past.  The 
future — let  us  speak  of  that.  I  am  determined  to  study  as 
never  youth  studied  before.  I  will  be  fii-st  or  nothing.  I  will 
climb  to  the  topmost  round  of  the  ladder,  and  then  drag  it  up 
after  me,  so  that  none  can  follow  my  footsteps." 

^'  How  selfish  !"  Linda  could  not  help  exclaiming. 

"  What  if  I  am  selfish  ?"  cried  he,  impetuously.  ^^  Every- 
body is  selfish,  only  they  have  a  difi'erent  way  of  showing  it. 
All  this  I  am  resolved  to  do,  and  then  I  shall  come  back, 
covered  with  honours,  to  claim  you,  Linda,  as  my  own.  But, 
if  you  treat  me  then  as  you  did  the  other  day  in  the  woods, 
I  swear,  I'll  plunge  as  low  in  vice  as  I  have  raised  myself 
high  in  knowledge  and  reputation." 

"  Robert,  for  heaven^s  sake,  don't  begin  to  talk  in  that  way !" 
cried  Linda,  in  a  faltering  voice. 

"  I  don't  want  to  frighten  you,  but  I  must  speak  out. 
promised  my  mother  to  keep  silence,  but  I  cannot  do  it  longer 
You  can  have  no  conception  how  I  love  you,  Linda.     I  don't 
care  for  your  fortune.     I  should  love  you  if  you  were  *^he 
overseer's  daughter  as  well  as  I  do  now.     Promise  me  that 
you  will  think  of  no  one  else,  love  no  one  else,  till  we  meet 


110  LrSDA;    OR,  THE    YOUNG   PILOT 

again,  and  I  know  you  will  keep  your  word.     I  will  not  go 

away  without  this  promise.      You  must  give  it." 

^'Do  not  speak  so  fiercely,  Robert/'  cried  Linda,  trying  to 
draw  her  hand  away  from  his  tightening  grasp.  "  There  is  no 
need  of  it.  I  am  very  willing  to  promise  to  love  no  one  else, 
for  I  am  too  young  to  think  of  such  a  thing.  Mrs.  Reveire, 
my  schoolmates,  and  books  are  all  I  shall  have  to  love.  No 
naughty  boys  are  admitted  into  Rose  Bower." 

"Don't  laugh,  Linda — I  can't  bear  to  hear  you  laugh  when 
I'm  so  terribly  in  earnest.  I  have  your  promise  though,  and, 
when  I  go  to  my  chamber,  I  mean  to  open  one  of  my  veins 
and  write  it  down  in  blood." 

Poor  Liuda  I — it  was  a  dark  fate  that  linked  her  childhood 
to  this  youth  of  strong,  precocious  passions  and  headstrong 
will.  It  was  a  touching  sight  to  see  her,  in  all  her  childlike 
simplicity,  innocence,  and  purity,  shrinking  by  the  side  of  the 
tall,  fiery  young  man  whose  eyes  flashed  like  meteors  under 
the  glimmering  stars  and  the  young,  pearly  moon.  Well 
might  she  tremble  for  the  future,  thus  early  brought  into  the 
stormy  conflict  of  human  passions.  Well  might  she  weep,  for 
who  was  to  save  her  from  the  destiny  that  hung  so  threaten- 
ing over  her  ?  Why  did  the  memory  of  Roland  Lee  give  her 
such  exquisite  pain  ?  Brave  and  generous  as  he  was,  his  arm 
would  be  stretched  in  vain  to  rescue  her  from  the  foes  of  hei 
own  household. 

Thus  Robert  and  Linda  parted. 

Once  more  in  her  beloved  Rose  Bower,  she  looked  upon  the 
past  as  a  feverish  dream,  and  the  future  again  brightened  with 
Lope.  Two  years  glided  by,  and  the  dreaded  hour  of  her  depart- 
ure arrived,  bringing  with  it  the  dark  host  of  terrors  she  had 
80  long  kept  at  bay.  She  was  to  enjoy,  however,  a  short 
respite.  Her  friend,  Emily  Chestney,  now  the  happy  wife  of 
Kdmund  Carleton,  and  a  resident  of  Mobile,  had  written  a  press  • 
ing  invitation  to  her  to  make  her  a  visit  as  soon  as  her  school- 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  Ill 

days  were  expired.  Her  father  consented  the  more  readily, 
as  he  had  business  of  his  own  to  transact  in  that  city.  It  is 
unnecessary  to  describe  the  sorrow  which  filled  the  warm, 
grateful,  and  affectionate  heart  of  Linda  in  parting  with 
Mrs.  Reveire  and  her  young  companions. 

"If  you  should  be  in  distress,  or  driven  to  extremity," 
said  Mrs.  Reveire,  to  whom  Linda  had  confided  all  her  anxie- 
ties, "remember  you  have  a  friend  whose  arms  will  be  ever 
open  to  shelter  you,  whose  home  to  receive  you.  But  remem- 
ber, above  all  things,  my  beloved  child,  that  you  have  a  Friend 
in  heaven,  kinder  and  more  powerful  than  any  earthly  one, 
to  whom  you  must  look  in  the  hour  of  trial  and  dread.'' 

Hallowed  by  the  associations  of  her  happiest  childhood  and 
blooming  girlhood — endeared  by  the  memory  of  ten  thou- 
sand acts  of  kindness  and  affection — ennobled  as  the  scene  of 
her  mind's  growth  and  her  heart's  expansion — Rose  Bower  was 
the  spot  to  which,  in  after  years,  her  thoughts  turned,  like 
pious  pilgrims,  to  some  holy  shrine. 


112  LINDA:    OR,    THE   YOUNG   PILOT 


CHAPTER   X. 

Beautiful  is  tlie  winding  Alabama,  with  its  .lear,  flowing 
waters  and  luxuriant  shores !      And  beautiful  did  the  Belle 

Creole  look,  as  she  glided  over  the  foaming  current  with  the 
speed  of  an  eagle  and  the  grace  of  a  swan  ! 

,  It  was  about  sunset,  and  a  long  line  of  golden  sheen 
marked  the  wake  of  the  vessel,  now  sweeping  round  a  grace- 
ful bend,  where  the  river  rolled  deep  and  strong,  unobstructed 
by  sandbars  or  rocks,  and  the  young  pilot  of  the  Belle  Cre- 
ole rested  against  his  wheel  for  a  moment  to  take  in  the  beauty 
of  a  scene  on  which  he  gazed  with  ever-renewed  delight. 
How  beautiful  were  those  high,  white  bluffs,  embroidered 
with  rich,  green  moss-work ;  while  here  and  there  a  silver 
spring^ gushing  forth,  sparkled  and  rippled  and  tinkled  like 
sweet-sounding  bells,  or  dripping  slowly  over  a  smoother  sur- 
face, whispered  of  coolness  and  freshness  to  the  passer-by. 
"What  rich,  mingling  shades  of  verdure  crowned  those  hoary 
2lifi"s  !  The  holly,  with  its  deep,  perennial  green  ]  the  mag- 
nolia, with  its  broad,  magnificent,  shining  leaves;  the  tall, 
stately  pines,  those  warriors  of  the  woods,  with  their  dark, 
unbending  tuft-knots ;  and,  ever  and  anon,  the  long,  gray 
moss  sweeping  its  funeral  garlands  over  the  living  green — all 
seemed  hurrying  along  with  spirit-like  velocity  to  the  music 
of  the  dashing  waves.  Sometimes,  high  up  on  the  shelving 
bank,  a  large  warehouse,  with  its  long,  wooden  slide  reaching 
down  to  the  river's  edge,  a  thoroughfare  for  the  massy  cotton 
bales,  interrupted  the  monotony  of  the  scene.  Again  rich 
fielafe  of  cultivated  lands,  adorned  with  the  milk-white  cotton 
balls,  rolled  like  sea-green  waves,  spotted  with  foam,  far  as 
the  eye  could  reach. 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOI E.  113 

Accustomed,  as  tlie  young  pilot  was,  to  this  prodigal  dis- 
play of  Nature's  loveliness,  he  still  gazed  with  enthusiastic 
admiration ;  but  another  feature  soon  arrested  his  attention, 
and  it  had  no  power  to  wander  more. 

A  gentleman,  no  longer  young,  and  yet  not  old,  with  a  very 
young  girl  hanging  on  his  arm,  walked  with  slow  steps  the 
hurricane  deck.  The  extreme  simplicity  and  youthfulness  of 
the  young  girl's  attire,  marked  her  as  one  just  '^  let  loose  from 
school.''  A  white  muslin  sun-bonnet  was  swinging  from  her 
arm,  a  full,  white  frock,  short  enough  to  show  the  neat,  white, 
embroidered  pantalette,  and  a  short,  black  silk  apron,  com- 
pleted her  dress.  She  was  talking  very  earnestly  to  the  gen- 
tleman, whose  head  was  bent  towards  her,  and  her  head  was 
slightly  raised.  Why  did  the  pilot  start,  and  the  blood 
rush  so  quick  and  warm  to  his  sunburnt  cheek  ?  Ah !  was  not 
that  the  same  sweet  vision  which  had  once  beamed  on  his  boy- 
ish fancy,  and  shone  a  star  of  memory' on  his  lonely  night- 
watches  ?  Those  soft,  bright,  deep-brown  eyes,  were  they 
not  the  same  which  met  his  waking  glance  when  he  swooned 
from  the  pain  of  his  shattered  arm  ?  That  complexion  of 
pearly  fairness,  brightened  with  the  roses  of  youth — those 
dark-brown  ringlets,  so  carelessly  yet  gracefully  arranged — he 
knew,  he  recollected  them  all.  The  figure  was  taller,  rounder, 
and  more  womanly ;  but  the  face  was  scarcely  changed.  The 
heavenly  innocence  of  childhood  still  rested  there.  But 
hark  !  what  does  she  say  ?  for  the  wind  bears  her  voice  to 
your  ear  as  she  passes  along,  unconscious  of  the  vicinity  of 
one  whom  her  grateful  heart  has  never  forgotten.  She  is  not 
accustomed  to  the  structure  and  machinery  of  a  steamboat,  or 
her  eyes  would  have  sought  the  pilot's  house  for  the  sake  of 
Roland  Lee.  The  green  railings  which  enclose  him  are  above 
her  head,  and  her  soul  is  occupied  intensely  with  the  theme 
her  father  has  chosen  to  converse  upon. 

*'  Do  not  speak  of  it,  father — do  not  think  of  it — I  never 


114  LINDA;    OR,  THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

cnn  consent.  The  more  I  think  of  it,  the  more  I  shrink  frona 
the  thouirht.  Tell  me  not  that  he  is  handsome — that  he  has 
brilliant  talents — I  know  it  all.  But  you  do  not  speak  of 
bis  fierce  passions — his  fiery  temper.  Oh  !  father,  they  would 
make  me  wretched." 

^'  You  would  mould  him  at  your  will." 

*'  I  don't  want  to  mould  others  to  my  will,"  was  the  firm 
yet  modest  reply.  "  If  I  ever  do  marry,  it  shall  be  to  one  who 
can  guide  and  sustain  me  in  my  life's  journey,  one  whom  I  can 
respect  as  well  as  love — reverence  as  well  as  adore.  But, 
father,"  added  she,  blushing  at  her  own  enthusiasm,  "  I  don't 
want  to  marry  for  years  to  come.  I  want  to  revel  awhile  in  the 
joy  of  freedom  ;  I  want  to  travel  to  see  the  world — to  play  the 
belle  a  little ;  and,  more  than  all,  I  want  to  see  if  I  can't 
make  my  father's  home  a  little  happier." 

"  A  pretty  home  I  shall  have,  if  you  refuse  to  marry  Ro- 
bert," uttered  Mr.  Walton,  in  a  fretful,  desponding  tone. 
'^  Nothing  but  storms  and  tempests  about  my  ears  the  whole 
time.  There  is  no  use  in  talking  about  it,  Linda ;  you  must 
obey,  for  Mrs.  Walton  will  be  obeyed.  She  will  not  change 
her  resolution  3  and,  as  for  your  foolish  romance  about  not 
loving  him,  when  you  have  lived  as  long  as  I  have,  you  will 
know  what  nonsense  that  is." 

''  Then  rather  let  me  die  this  moment,"  exclaimed  Linda, 
casting  her  eyes  down  on  the  golden  wake  streaming  behind 
them  ;  "rather  let  me  find  a  grave  in  those  waters  than  live  to 
mourn  over  my  young  life's  vanished  dream." 

'''  That  is  the  way  all  young  girls  talk,"  said  Mr.  Walton, 
on  whom  two  more  years  of  intercourse  with  his  eligible  mate 
had  passed  with  hardening  process  ;  "  but  it  is  nothing  but 
talk.  I  see  the  propriety  of  hastening  the  match,  as  you 
might  DC  running  away  with  some  romantic  fellow — some 
poor  fortune-hunter — who  would  bring  you  to  poverty  and 
disi^race.' 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  115 

"  Father,  I  sliall  never  marry  without  yoxir  consent ; 
neither  will  I  without  my  oicn.  I  know  the  limits  of  a  pa- 
rent's authority  and  a  daughter's  obedience." 

Linda  spoke  this  with  the  air  of  a  young  princess.  Her 
father  did  not  reply ;  but  cast  upon  her  a  troubled  and  waver- 
ing glance. 

"  I'm  sure  I  wish  your  happiness,  my  daughter ;  you  must 
know  that  I  do." 

"  You  have  always  been  kind,"  she  replied,  in  a  softened 
•voice,  tears  gathering  into  her  eyes ;  ^^  you  have  always  loved 
me  when  away  from  that  woman,  whom  I  never  could  call 
mother.  Oh  !  that  I  could  see  my  own  dear  father  once  more 
presiding  with  dignity  over  his  own  household;  that  he  would 
dare  to  be,  in  thought  and  deed,  a  man. 

''Father,  I  am  very  young,  and  I  have  no  right  to  read 
lessons  to  you;  but  you  have  not  been  yourself  for  many 
years.  You  have  sacrificed  your  own  happiness.  I  know,  I 
feel  you  have ;  but,  as  you  expect  to  meet  the  soul  of  my  mo- 
ther, at  the  bar  of  God,  on  the  great  judgment-day,  do  not 
destroy  that  of  her  child." 

She  paused,  hung  her  head  on  her  father's  shoulder,  and 
wept.  His  dried  affections  bloomed  afresh,  under  the  influ- 
ence of  that  gentle  heart-shower.  He  clasped  her  in  his 
arms,  kissed  her  fondly  again  and  again,  promised  she  should 
not  be  forced,  if  he  could  help  it,  (a  very  necessary  reserva- 
tion,) bade  her  dry  her  eyes,  lest  the  passengers  should  sus- 
pect he  had  been  scolding  her,  and  led  her  tenderly  from  the 
deck. 

And  how  felt  the  young  pilot,  while  listening  to  this  thrill 
ing  conversation?  How  could  he  remain  still  and  silent, 
when  every  word  made  his  heart  bound,  and  his  blood  buri* 
in  his  veins?  At  the  first  glance  of  recognition,  he  had 
bowed  his  head  and  knelt  by  the  side  of  the  wheel,  so  that 
the  lineaments  of  his  figure  could  not  be  discerned.    The  boat 


116  LINDA;    OR,    THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

was  gliding  along  a  smooth  current,  and  it  needed  not  his 
guiding  hand.  At  first  he  blushed  at  the  thought  of  being  a 
listener,  but  soon  the  intensity  of  his  interest  absorbed  every 
other  emotion.  How  he  admired  the  noble,  independent,  yet 
womanly  spirit  of  the  daughter  !  How  he  scorned,  yet  pitied 
the  pusillanimous  mind  of  the  father !  How  roused  were  his 
passions  by  the  idea  of  the  handsome,  brilliant,  fierce  and  fiery 
Robert ! 

Romantic  fellow,  and  low  fortune-lumter  I  These  expres- 
Bions  grated  harshly  on  his  ear.  He  might  be  the  first — but 
the  last  never.  He  felt  the  distance  that  separated  him  from 
the  rich  heiress,  and  his  proud  heart  recoiled  from  the  thought 
of  ever  presuming  on  the  condescension  shown  him  when  a 
boy. 

"  She  spoke  kindly — she  sympathized  with  my  boyish  en- 
thusiasm,'' repeated  he  to  himself;  '•'■  but  she  was  a  child  then, 
and  we  were  alone  on  the  hills.  And  now,  what  is  she  ?  A 
proud,  beautiful,  high-spirited  heiress — and  I — a  proud,  poor, 
high-spirited  young  man.  Ah  !  there  is  a  great  gulf  between 
the  rich  and  poor !  but  I  leaped  it  once,  in  my  boyhood;  and 
should  danger  again  threaten,  I'd  vault  over  the  abyss,  at  the 
peril  of  a  thousand  lives,  to  stand  one  moment  by  her  side, 
on  common  ground.  This  bold  step-brother !  she  resists  him 
now,  but  will  she  always  stem  the  current  setting  so  strongly 
against  her?" 

Thus  wildly  ran  the  thoughts  of  the  young  pilot,  as,  with 
unerring  eye  and  skilful  hand,  he  directed  the  graceful  mo- 
tions of  the  Belle  Creole. 

Linda,  who  had  always  associated  the  idea  of  Roland  with 
rivers  and  boats,  could  not  help  indulging  the  hope  of  meet- 
ing him  on  the  element  he  loved.  She  wanted  to  inquire  if 
there  was  one  who  bore  his  name  on  board,  but  an  unaccounta- 
ble difiidence  prevented  her.  "If  he  were  here,"  thou«Tht 
fthc    "  he  would  see  our  name  on  the  register,  and  if  he  has 


OP   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  117 

forgotten  ns,  I  would  not  wish  to  intrude  mj^self  on  liis  re- 
membrance/' 

The  rich,  goklen  clouds  that  lingered  round  the  setting  sun 
gradually  lost  their  glory,  and,  assuming  that  form  so  expres- 
sively called  tliunder-pillars,  leaned  gloomily  over  the  river. 
The  moon,  rising  above  their  darkened  summits,  looked  down 
on  her  celestial  face  mirrored  in  the  water ;  and  as  the  clouds 
gathered  round  her,  darting  the  lightning  from  their  bosoms, 
the  more  heavenly  became  her  smile,  the  brighter  her  ra- 
diance. 

Linda,  delighting  in  the  sublime  as  well  as  the  beautiful, 
went  out  on  deck,  and  stood  gazing  on  the  scene  in  a  trans- 
port of  youthful  enthusiasm.  She  heard  the  thunder  mutter- 
ing in  the  distance,  and  she  was  glad — it  seemed  such  fitting 
music  for  the  gallant  boat  to  march  by  on  its  foaming  way. 
She  stood,  with  the  breeze  rustling  through  her  ringlets  and 
cooling  her  brow,  wondering  how  the  ladies  could  be  so  stupid 
as  to  think  of  sleep,  instead  of  coming  abroad,  like  her,  to  feel 
themselves  a  part  of  nature's  wonderousness.  She  wanted 
some  one  near,  to  whom  she  could  exclaim — "  How  beautiful 
— how  grand !"  whose  eye  would  follow  hers,  as  it  watched 
the  lightning's  path  or  the  moonbeam's  track,  whose  ear 
would  listen  with  hers  to  ^^the  thunder-drum  of  heaven,"  and 
the  dashing  music  of  the  waters.  She  heard  a  step  walking 
to  and  fro  in  the  gentleman's  cabin,  which  she  recognised  as 
her  father's.  ^^I  have  not  bidden  him  good-night/'  said  she. 
"I  will  go  and  bring  him  here,  and  make  him  admire,  whether 
he  will  or  no." 

Mr.  Walton  heard  the  soft,  low  voice  that  called  him  from 
the  door,  and  obeyed  the  summons.  The  interview  he  had 
had  with  his  daughter  had  roused  his  best,  kindest  feelings; 
and  though  he  was  beginning  to  feel  rather  sleepy,  he  lingered 
some  time  by  her  side,  listening  to  her  animated  expressioas 
of  admiration  and  delight. 


118  ltnpa;  or,  the  young  tilot 

"Do  you  think  there  is  any  danger  of  the  boiler's  burst- 
ing ?"  asked  she,  as  the  steam  rushed  violently  from  its  pent- 
house. 

<'Xo,  no,  child— what  makes  you  think  of  such  a  thing?" 

"  I  have  heard  that  electricity  has  caused  such  accidents ; 
and  I  have  been  told,  too,  there  is  a  large  quantity  of  powder 
on  board." 

"That  may  be;  but  there  is  no  cause  for  apprehension. 
This  is  a  fine  new  boat,  and  the  captain  never  sleeps  when 
there  is  the  least  shadow  of  danger.  You  had  better  retire 
now,  for  you  may  take  cold  from  too  long  exposure  to  this 
breeze." 

"Well,  good-night,  father;"  and  passing  her  arm  closely 
round  his  neck,  she  whispered,  "  Forgive  me,  if  I  have  said 
any  thing  to  wound  your  feelings  to-uight.  Indeed,  I  did  not 
mean  it." 

"Bless  thee,  darling,"  answered  he,  pressing  her  in  his 
arms,  in  a  long,  affectionate  embrace ;  "  I  have  more  need  to 
ask  forgiveness  of  thee." 

Surely,  some  pitying  angel  had  directed  Linda's  beart  to 
seek  this  last  touching  manifestation  of  a  father's  love. 

Without  changing  her  apparel  or  extinguishing  her  lamp, 
she  lay  down  in  her  state-room;  for,  notwithstanding  her  fa- 
ther's asL>ertion,  she  could  not  dismiss  all  her  misgi^dngs,  and 
resolved,  if  any  accident  did  occur,  it  should  find  her  prepared. 
Too  much  excited  to  sleep,  she  lay  and  listened  to  the  deep, 
sullen,  monotonous,  plunging  sound  of  the  engine,  falling  so 
regularly  and  heavily  on  the  ear.  And  when  the  mighty 
Btearn  spii  it,  imprisoned  in  those  iron  tubes,  sent  out  its  strong 
breath  in  startling  sighs,  as  if  labouring  for  deliverance,  she 
could  not  help  trembling  at  the  thought  of  the  terrific  power 
man  had  made  subservient  to  his  will,  well  knowing  if  the 
giant  vassal  om:e  gained  the  mastery,  ruin  and  death  would 
ensue.     Gradually,  however,  slumber  settled  on  her  eyelids, 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  119 

and  slie  wandered  in  the  fairy  land  of  dreams;  wliile  llie 
storm,  which  had  been  gathering,  exhausted  itself  in  rain,  and 
the  wind  rocked  the  boat  like  a  cradle,  inducing  deeper  sleep. 

But  hark  ! — What  sudden,  deafening,  rending  thunder-peal 
bursts  on  the  ear?  Springing  from  her  couch,  Linda  gazed 
wildly  round  her.  Hark !  again  ! — What  shrieks  of  agony, 
what  wails  of  despair ;  what  hoarse,  desperate  cries  mingle  in 
dreadful  chorus  !  The  floor  quakes  and  reels  and  heaves  !  A 
hot,  suffocating,  intolerable  vapour  fills  the  air. 

"God  of  mercy,^^  she  cried — "we  are  lost.  Oh,  my  father 
' — come  to  me — save  me.^' 

W^ith  a  piercing  shriek,  she  was  rushing  to  the  cabin  door, 
but  the  shelving  boards  seemed  to  give  way  under  her  feet. 
She  staggered  and  would  have  fallen,  but  a  strong  arm  was 
thrown  suddenly  round  her,  and  she  was  borne  irresistibly  to 
the  very  edge  of  the  boat,  whose  shattered  railing  lay  in  splin- 
ters in  their  path. 

"Oh  !  whither  are  you  bearing  me?''  she  cried,  struggling 
and  recoiling  from  the  fearful  brink.  "  Let  me  go  and  perish 
with  my  father.  Let  me  go,"  she  shrieked  again.  "  1  will 
not  leave  him  here  to  die." 

"You  cannot  save  him,"  uttered  a  deep  voice  in  her  ear. 
"You  will  destroy  yourself  The  boiler  is  burst.  The  boat 
is  lost.  Fear  not — struggle  not — I  will  preserve  you,  or  perish 
with  you.  Haste,  or  another  explosion  still  more  terrible  will 
shiver  us  to  atoms." 

Even  in  that  moment  of  indescribable  horror,  Linda  recoo^- 
nised  the  tones  of  a  voice  which  once  before  had  breathed  of 
deliverance,  and  death  seemed  robbed  of  half  its  terrors 
With  one  wild  glance  at  the  dark  waters  rolling  below,  rolling 
in  inky  blackness,  in  contrast  with  the  lurid  glare  of  the 
flames  bursting  above — one  supplicating  look  to  heaven,  and 
yielding  to  the  motion  of  the  arm  that  held  her  with  a  stil' 
tightening  grasp,  she  felt  herself  rushing  downward  with  diz 


120  LINDA  ;    OK,  THE   YOUNG  PILOT 

zjing  velocity,  then  plunging  into  the  cold  waves,  where  many 
a  scorched  and  blackened  corpse  was  already  floating.  She 
did  not  lose  all  consciousness,  though,  without  any  volition  of 
her  own,  she  was  borne  above  the  stream.  Her  head  sunk 
powerless  on  the  shoulder  of  her  preserver,  whose  voice  still 
niurmured  in  her  ear,  *^  Fear  not — I  will  save  you.  Fear  not — 
trust  in  me.^'  Wails,  shrieks,  and  groans  were  behind  her, 
the  mournful  gurgling  of  the  waters  all  round  her,  darkness 
and  death  before  her,  yet  that  low  voice,  whispering  of  safety 
and  trust,  sustained  her  sinking  soul.  They  have  reached  the 
bank,  a  steep,  shelving  spot,  where  the  gnarled  roots  and 
tangled  boughs  prevented  a  higher  ascent.  The  water  still 
splashed  round  her  knees,  but  her  feet  pressed  the  earth.  She 
had  escaped  the  terrors  of  the  drowning — she  had  escaped — 
but  her  father — where  was  he  ?  "  Father,  father  !"  she  cried, 
stretching  out  her  arms  towards  the  boat,  to  whose  smoking 
timbers  human  forms  were  clinging  and  writhing  in  the  throes 
of  mortal  agony.  At  that  moment,  a  disfigured  and  blackened 
face — a  pair  of  quivering  arms,  rose  above  the  surface  of  the 
river,  then  sunk  again  with  a  sullen  plunge.  Then  came 
another  tremendous  explosion,  louder  than  the  loudest  thun- 
der, and  the  Belle  Creole  was  wrapped,  from  prow  to  helm,  in 
one  sheet  of  rolling  flame.  But  Linda  heard  not  the  thunder- 
ing peal — she  saw  not  the  sheeted  flames.  Those  withering 
features,  those  shivering  arms,  rising  above  the  water  at  her 
agonized  appeal,  changed  and  distorted  as  they  were,  she  re- 
cognised them  as  her  father's.  With  a  deep  groan,  she  fell 
back  in  the  arms  of  her  deliverer,  and  death  seemed  stamped 
on  her  motionless  form. 

lloland  looked  round  him  in  despair.  Must  she  die  under 
these  accumulating  horrors,  after  escaping  a  burning  and  a 
drowning  death  ?  Those  who  were  saved  in  the  yawl  had 
reached  the  opposite  shore,  and  he  appeared  alone  in  the  midst 
of  desolation.  White  and  still  as  marble,  she  looked  in  the  rnuix- 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  121 

nificent  blaze  of  that  awful  conflagration.  The  moon  rose,  too, 
above  the  sinking  clouds,  and,  through  the  wreathing  smoke, 
mingled  its  pale  splendours  with  the  crimson  glare,  and  cast 
an  unearthly  reflection  on  her  pallid  features. 

"Oh,  my  God,^^  ejaculated  the  young  man,  kneeling  on  one 
knee,  his  nerveless  arms  scarcely  able  to  sustain  her.  "  Thou 
who  hast  protected  thus  far,  leave  her  not  to  perish." 

Frantic  at  her  protracted  insensibility,  he  chafed  her  icy 
hands  in  his,  laid  his  cheek  to  her  cold  cheeks,  and  pressed 
his  lips,  warm  with  the  breath  of  life,  to  her  chill  and  motion- 
less ones. 

*'  Linda,  Linda,"  be  cried,  and  though  no  answer  came,  he 
still  continued  his  passionate  adjuration,  while  scalding  tears 
gushed  from  his  eyes,  and  mingled  with  the  cold  drops  that 
oozed  from  her  dripping  hair.  At  length  a  shudder  passed 
through  her  frame — she  opened  her  eyes,  with  a  look  of  wild 
alarm,  but  as  they  rested  long  and  earnestly  on  the  face  bend- 
ing over  her,  they  softened  into  an  expression  of  coi.iding 
tenderness,  and  a  faint  smile  passed  over  her  lips.  Then,  as 
if  awakening  to  some  horrible  recollection,  she  started  and 
turned  towards  the  water. 

"  Did  you  not  see  him  ?"  she  cried ;  "  I  saw  him — I  knew 
him,  all  terrible  as  he  looked."  Covering  her  face  with  her 
hands,  she  burst  into  an  agony  of  tears  and  leaned  again  on 
the  shoulder  of  him  who  seemed  now  her  last  earthly  friend. 

How  came  he  there,  like  an  angel  of  deliverance,  once  more 

rushing  between  her  and  terrible  death  ?     The  same  arm  that 

had  checked  the  foaming  steed 

"  Had  buffeted  the  billows  for  her  rescue, 
And  redeem'd  her  life,  with  half  the  loss  of  his." 

Heaven,  by  a  mysterious  agency,  seemed  to  have  united 
them  in  such  awful  scenes,  that  the  artificial  barriers  fortune 
had  raised  between  them  might  be  shaken  down  and  de- 
stroyed. 


122  LINDA;    OR;    THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

But  what  was  to  become  of  them,  thus  separated  from  their 
companions,  in  a  place  Avhere  it  was  impossible  for  them  to 
scale  the  bank;  the  air  too,  becoming  hot  and  oppressive  from 
the  vicinity  of  the  burning  boat  ? 

Eoland  rose,  still  supporting  Linda,  who  now  tried  to  rally 
her  bewildered  faculties  and  gird  herself  with  fortitude  to 
meet  the  difficulties  that  might  still  be  before  her.  His  clear 
and  loud  holloo,  again  and  again  repeated,  went  across  the 
river,  and  was  answered  from  the  opposite  shore.  A  dark  ob- 
ject began  to  float  in  the  distance,  and  soon  the  sound  of  dip- 
ping oars  was  heard. 

"  How  many  were  saved  ?"  cried  Roland,  as  the  little  vessel 
approached  within  speaking  distance  of  the  spot  where  they 
stood. 

"Eight  in  the  yawl,"  was  the  answer;  "three  women,  one 
child,  and  four  men,  including  myself.  How  many  have  been 
drifted  ashore  I  cannot  tell, — an  awful  wreck,'^  exclaimed  the 
man,  looking  with  horror  on  the  charring  and  smouldering 
remains  of  the  gallant  boat. 

With  a  sickening  sensation  Linda  felt  herself  borne  again  on 
the  current,  which  had  so  nearly  proved  her  grave.  And  was 
it  not  her  father's  grave  over  which  she  was  floating  ?  She 
closed  her  eyes,  lest  some  horrible  apparition  should  glare  at 
her  from  the  water,  and  felt  a  calmness  settling  on  her  feel- 
ings as  the  measured  cadence  of  the  oars,  and  the  gurgling 
that  followed  every  splashing  sound,  fell  on  her  ear.  She  was 
roused  by  the  sudden  reeling  of  the  boat,  and  a  loud  exclama- 
tion from  Roland.  A  wretched,  piteous-looking  figure  was 
clinging  to  the  side  of  the  vessel,  which  he  had  clutched  with 
the  grasp  of  despair,  uttering  the  most  heart-rending  moans 
and  incoherent  cries. 

"  Bear  down  on  the  opposite  side,''  cried  Roland  to  the  man 
who  guided  the  boat,  and  bending  forward  he  seized  the  drown 
ing  Avretch  by  the  arms  and  dragged  him  into  the  vessel.  Linda 


OF    THE   BELLE    CREOLE.  123 

gazed,  in  tLe  wild  hope  that  it  might  be  her  father,  though  she 
was  sure  she  had  seeu  him  sink  in  the  agonies  of  death. 
What  would  she  have  given  for  the  power  to  relieve  the  suffer- 
ings of  the  poor  creature  thus  saved  from  present  death,  pro- 
bably onlj  to  linger  in  protracted  anguish  !  It  was  dreadful 
to  see  him  hold  up  his  lacerated  and  bleeding  hands,  and  feel 
that  there  was  no  balm  to  drop  into  the  wounds.  To  see  him 
writhing  in  pangs,  that  mocked  description,  and  yet  know  there 
was  no  physician  near, 

"  Oh,  Koland,"  cried  Linda,  ^^  you  have  saved  me  from  a 
doom  like  this.  A  second  time  I  owe  my  life  to  you, — to 
Heaven  and  you,''  she  added,  looking  upward  with  a  realization 
of  God's  omnipotent  and  omnipresent  glory,  such  as  she  had 
never  felt  before.  She  remembered  the  words  of  the  psalmist : 
"  All  thy  waves  and  billows  have  gone  over  me."  She  re- 
membered too,  that  he  had  said,  "  In  the  night  his  song  shall 
be  with  me,  and  my  prayer  to  the  God  of  my  life." 

Let  us  not  linger  too  long  on  this  sad  page  of  our  youno- 
heroine's  history.  A  boat  bound  for  Mobile  received  the 
sufferers  about  the  morning's  dawn.  The  hours  spent  on 
that  desolate  shore,  far  from  any  human  habitation,  with 
drenched  garments,  shivering  limbs,  and  aching  hearts,  (for 
almost  all  that  remained  had  lost  some  friend  in  the  wreck,) 
were  not  soon  forgotten  by  the  survivors  of  the  Belle  Creole 


124  LINDA;    OV.,   THE   YOUNG   PILOT 


CHArTER  XI. 

About  four  weeks  after  the  terrible  catastrophe  described 
in  the  last  chapter,  Linda  sat  by  the  side  of  Emily  in  the 
family  sitting-room.     The  fright,  anguish,  and  long  exposure 
of   that  dreadful  night  had  caused  a  nervous  illness,  from 
which  she  had  but  just  recovered,  and  it  was  the  first  time 
that,  dismissing  the  character  of  an  invalid,  she  was  permit- 
ted to  leave  her  own  apartment.     In  the  meantime,  through 
the  considerate  kindness  of  Emily,  her  wardrobe,  which  had 
been  destroyed  in  the  wreck,  had  been  entirely  renewed,  and 
those  mourning  garments  prepared,  appropriate  to  her  orphan 
condition.     With  cheeks  pale  from  sorrow  and  indisposition, 
looking  still  fairer  and  more  colourless,  in  contrast  with  her 
hable  dress,  and  eyes  darkened  with  deeper  meanings,  Linda 
was  not  the  same  bright  and  rosy  being  who  had  walked  the 
hurricane  deck  of  the  Belle  Creole.     The  loss  of  her  father, 
under  any  circumstances,  would  have  been  long  and  deeply 
folt;  for,  notwithstanding  the  weakness  of  his  character,,  he 
was  a  fond  and  doting  parent,  and  all  the  love  she  would  have 
lavished  on  her  mother,  had  she  been  spared,  flowed  into  the 
only  natural  channel  open  to  receive  it.     But  the  horrible  cir- 
cumstances of  his  death,  added  to  her  chilling  sense  of  bereave- 
ment, sometimes  almost  drove  her  to  frenzy.     The  recollection 
of  his  convulsed  and  agonized  features  rising  above  the  gur- 
gling waters,  then  plunging  never  to  rise  again,  haunted  her 
by  day  and  pursued  her  even  in  her  dreams.     Feelings  of 
self-reproach,  morbidly  indulged,  increased  her  melancholy. 
"  I  dared   to  upbraid  him,"  she  would  exclaim;   "  that  very 
night  even  I  arraigned  him  as  I  would  have  done  a  criminal 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  125 

before  the  bar  of  justice,  and  yet  he  forgave  me.     The  last 
words  that  fell  from  his  lips  asked  forgivenes>  of  me.^' 

Emily  encouraged  her  to  speak  of  her  sorrow,  for  she 
knew  that  it  is  silent  grief  that  dries  up  the  heart ;  but, 
when  she  found  her  dwelling  too  long  on  the  saddening  theme 
glie  would  change  the  subject  to  the  heroism  of  Roland  Lee 
Then  Linda's  tearful  eyes  would  beam  with  grateful  emotion, 
and  she  would  repeat  again  and  again  the  story  of  her  rescue, 
and  the  more  than  woman's  tenderness  with  which  he  had 
guarded  and  sustained  her  through  all  succeeding  trials,  till 
she  was  encircled  in  the  arms  of  her  friend. 

^^  You  say  he  has  called  every  day  to  inquire  of  my  wel- 
fare," said  Linda,  the  colour  dawning  on  her  pale  cheek. 
''  Oh !  he  is  kind  as  he  is  brave ;  I  owe  him  a  life-long 
debt.'' 

Emily  was  now  a  noble,  high-minded  young  woman,  awake 
to  the  noblest  purposes  of  her  being,  and  happy  in  the  warm, 
pure  exercise  of  her  heart's  best  affections.  It  has  been  seen 
that  pride  was  the  predominant  defect  of  her  character ;  and, 
however  softened  this  trait  now  was,  the  influence  of  early 
associations  was  still  felt.  She  admired  the  bravery  of  Ro- 
land )  she  respected  his  virtues ;  but  she  was  too  aristocratic 
not  to  remember  that  his  rank  in  life  was  not  equal  to  her 
own.  Judging  Linda  by  herself,  she  never  dreamed  that  the 
young  pilot  could  awaken  any  other  emotion  than  gratitude 
in  her  bosom. 

^'  You  do,  indeed,  owe  him  more  than  words  can  express,'* 
answered  Emily,  '^  and  it  must  be  an  unspeakable  gratification 
to  you  that  you  have  it  in  your  power  to  repay,  though  you 
must  ever  be  grateful  for  the  obligation." 

"  Repay !"  cried  Linda,  her  cheek  glowing  with  a  still 
brighter  hue.     "  What  do  you  mean,  Emily  ?" 

■•'  That  you  have  a  splendid  fortune,  and,  as  he  is  poor  and 
in  a  lowly  condition,  you  will  be  able  to  assist  his  advance- 


126  LINDA;    OR,    TUE    YOUNG   PILOT 

ment  in  life,  and  remunerate  liim  in  a  manner  that  you  could 
n/^t  do  if  he  wore  in  a  higher  station." 

"  And  do  you  think  I  could  offer  money  to  Roland  Lee,  as 
a  compensation  for  my  life  twice  preserved  from  the  most  hor- 
rible of  deaths  ?"  exclaimed  Linda,  her  bosom  swelling  at  the 
thought  of  so  poor  a  return  to  one  of  his  magnanimous  and 
lofty  character.  "  Could  I  insult  his  delicacy — his  pride — 
by  such  an  offer  ?  Oh  !  Emily,  you  do  not  know  him,  or  you 
would  never  have  suggested  such  a  thing." 

^'  Then  you  must  pardon  me  a  crime  committed  in  igno- 
rance," a  slight  suffusion  passing  over  the  marble  of  her  face. 
"  I  have  never  seen  him ;  for,  whenever  he  has  called,  I  have 
been  in  your  chamber,  and,  though  Mr.  Carleton  has  spoken 
of  him  in  the  most  enthusiastic  terms,  you  know  gentlemen 
do  not  attach  so  much  value  to  refinement  of  manners  as  we  do. 
I  have  no  doubt  he  has  great  and  noble  qualities.  Indeed,  I 
know  he  has ;  but,  educated,  as  he  has  been,  and  associated 
with  a  lower  class  of  society,  I  cannot  conceive  of  his  pos- 
sessing that  sensitive  delicacy  which  would  shrink  from  the 
offer  I  suggested."  ' 

"  Roland's  education  has  been  very  different  from  what  you 
imagine,"  said  Linda,  in  a  more  subdued  tone.  "  His  father 
was  once  in  affluent  circumstances,  and,  in  his  early  years,  I 
doubt  not  he  was  as  carefully  attended  as  your  father's  sons. 
His  mother  is  one  of  the  most  perfect  ladies  I  ever  saw..  Gen- 
tle, dignified,  and  self-possessed,  her  society  alone  would  be 
sufficient  to  polish  the  rudest  nature,  and,  when  you  have  seen 
Roland,  I  think  you  will  acknowledge  that  he  could  not  natu- 
rally have  been  rough  or  unrefined." 

"  Is  he  handsome  ?"  asked  Emily,  with  a  •  true  woman's 
curiosity. 

"  I  scarcely  know  whether  he  would  be  thought  handsome 
or  not,"  replied  Linda.  "  You  must  recollect  that  I  huvo 
fice^  him  ouly  as  a  guardian  angel,  and  I  cannot  be  an  iuipar- 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE  127 

tial  judge.  There  was  one  moment'^ — here  covering  her  face 
with  her  hands,  as  if  some  dark  remembrance  impeded  her 
utterance,  she  remained  silent  a  little  while,  then  continued — 
*^  awakening  from  a  death-like  swoon,  I  beheld  him  looking 
down  upon  me  by  the  light  of  the  blazing  boat  and  the  strug- 
gling moonbeams.  No,  I  cannot  describe  my  emotions ;  but, 
should  you  ever  know  what  it  is  to  feel  the  weight  of  desola- 
tion that  then  pressed  on  my  heart,  and  meet  the  glance  of 
kindness,  pity,  and  protection,  that  then  beamed  on  me,  you 
would  not  wonder  at  my  gratitude. '^ 

^'I  do  not  wonder,"  said  Emily;  "it  is  a  beautiful  senti- 
ment, and,  in  a  heart  as  warm  as  yours,  I  know  what  its  depth 
and  strength  must  be.  I  only  wish,'^  continued  the  aristo- 
cratic Emily,  "  that  he  was  a  real  gentleman,  then  you  could 
marry  him,  and  that  would  be  a  glorious  way  of  cancelling 
the  debt." 

"  It  is  of  too  sacred  and  solemn  nature  to  be  spoken  of  so 
lightly,"  replied  Linda,  too  deeply  wounded  to  speak  with 
calmness.  "  I  did  not  think  that  you,  Emily,  would  thus  have 
trifled  with  it ;  and,  as  to  your  interpretation  of  the  word  gen- 
tleman, though  we  have  studied  at  the  same  school,  and  you 
are  older,  and  ought  to  be  wiser,  than  I,  I  trust  I  can  define 
it  more  truly  and  more  worthily." 

"  Forgive  me,"  cried  Emily,  kissing  Linda's  now  averted 
cheek  ;  "  you  soar  above  me,  as  you  ever  did,  and  make  me 
feel  ashamed  of  my  own  inferiority.  I  wish  I  could  overcorue 
my  foolish  pride,  and  feel  there  were  no  real  distinctions  but 
those  of  virtue  and  talent.  But  early  impressions  are  almost 
indelible.  Of  one  thing,  however,  let  me  assure  you:  I 
have  not  spoken  in  wantonness,  or  with  any  intention  of 
sporting  with  your  feelings.  Say  that  you  believe  me, 
Linda." 

A  silent  embrace  was  a  stronger  assurance  than  words. 
Emily  looked  upon  her  young  companion  with  increasing  in- 


128  LINDA;    OR,  THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

terest  and  admiration.  There  was  something  in  the  dignity 
of  her  sentiments  that  rebuked  her  worldly  wisdom,  and 
threw  over  her  the  softening  shadow  of  humility.  It  was  a 
favourable  moment  for  the  introduction  of  the  young  pilot, 
and  it  was  well  he  came. 

^^I  am  constrained  to  call  this  man  a  gentleman,"  said 
Emily  to  herself,  as  she  gazed  with  earnest  scrutiny  on  his 
entering  figure.  Clad  in  the  plain,  but  elegant  4ress  of  an 
American  citizen,  he  might  have  walked  by  the  side  of  the 
proudest  aristocrat  of  the  land  without  being  distinguished  as 
one  of  lowlier  station.  Instead  of  veiling  his  worth  under 
the  shade  of  diffidence,  as  if  conscious  he  was  in  the  presence 
of  his  superiors,  he  had  an  air  of  even  stately  self-reliance — a 
firm  and  manly  bearing  that  spoke  of  indwelling  power.  His 
manner,  at  first,  even  gave  an  impression  of  haughtiness ;  but 
this  was  soon  removed  by  the  expression  of  his  frank,  ingenu- 
ous countenance,  and  the  smile  of  even  boyish  sweetness  that 
occasionally  played  round  his  lips.  The  woman  who  looked 
on  the  face  and  form  of  Roland  Lee  would  feel  secure  of  a 
sympathizer  in  joy  and  sorrow,  a  protector  in  the  hour  of 
danger,  and  an  avenger  in  that  of  wrong.  His  voice,  too,  had 
a  deep  and  mellow  tone — that  greatest  of  all  charms  to  a 
refined  and  cultivated  ear. 

Emily  no  longer  wondered  at  the  enthusiasm  of  Linda  in 
defending  her  preserver,  and  claiming  for  him  the  respect  due 
to  a  gentleman.  She  acknowledged  herself,  that  she  would 
no  more  dare  to  ofi'er  money  as  a  reward,  to  such  a  man,  than 
to  a  prince  of  the  royal  blood.  She  watched  with  intense  in- 
terest the  countenances  of  both  when  they  greeted  each  other. 
It  was  not  strange  that  Linda's  hand  should  tremble,  and  her 
cheek  change  from  red  to  pale,  from  pale  to  red ;  o:  that  Roland 
should  address  her  in  an  agitated  voice,  considering  the  awful 
circumstances  in  which  they  had  last  met;  but  Emily's  early 
initiation  in  the  mysteries  of  the  heart  had  made  her  skilful  in 


OF  THE   BELliE   CREOLE.  129 

interpreting  its  hieroglyphics,  and  she  began  to  tremble  for 
the  future  happiness  of  her  friend.  She  knew  the  persecution 
she  had  endured  from  her  step-mother  and  her  fiery  son,  and 
she  saw  in  perspective  many  dark  and  stormy  scenes. 

Roland,  as  he  sat  by  the  side  of  Linda,  in  that  elegant  and 
fiishionably  furnished  apartment,  with  the  large  dark  eyes  of 
Mrs.  Carleton  fixed  in  unconscious  earnestness  upon  him, 
would  gladly  have  exchanged  the  security  and  constraint  of 
his  present  situation  for  the  thrilling,  maddening  scenes,  in 
which  he  had  last  met  her.  He  thought  of  her  clinging  to 
his  side  in  the  whelming  waters,  clasped  in  his  arms  on  the 
lonely  bank,  leaning  on  his  shoulder  in  the  floating  bark,  and 
abandoned  in  all  the  confidingness  of  innocence  to  his  protecting 
tenderness,  during  the  remainder  of  that  dreadful  night.  He 
recalled  her  image,  as  she  lay  in  her  dripping  garments,  with 
wet,  disordered  tresses,  and  cheeks  of  alabaster  whiteness,  so 
near  his  throbbing  heart,  and  sighed  to  think  it  would  be  now 
deemed  an  act  of  presumption  to  take  her  hand  in  his,  save 
when  extended  in  courtesy,  at  the  moment  of  greeting.  He 
did  not  know  that  his  soul  had  passed  into  his  eyes,  or  that 
the  dark  eyes  still  turned  towards  him  were  reading  its  vivid 
characters. 

But  Roland  did  not  long  sit  in  this  abstracted  mood.  He 
roused  himself  and  entered  into  conversation  with  an  ease  and 
address,  which  convinced  Emily  of  the  truth  of  Linda's  re- 
marks with  regard  to  his  early  education.  She  inquired  for 
his  mother,  and  learned  that  she  resided  with  a  widowed  sister 
on  a  small  plantation,  situated  on  the  bay,  where  he  had  fre- 
quent opportunities  of  visiting  her,  during  his  floating  life. 
Linda  told  him  of  their  visit  to  his  deserted  cottage ;  of  the 
long  and  melancholy  grass  growing  over  the  paths,  the  rank 
and  trailing  vines,  the  ramble  on  the  silver  creek,  and  the 
sight  of  the  bark  canoe. 

"  Ah  !  that  bark  canoe,"  exclaimed  Roland,  kindling   at 


130  ltnda;  or,  the  young  pilot 

the  reminiscences  of  his  boj^hood,  ''  how  I  love  it,  the  cradle 
of  nij  bo^-ish  fancy !  If  all  the  dreams  indulged  in  that  rude 
vessel  are  ever  realized/'  continued  he,  laughing,  *'  I  mean  to 
have  it  placed  over  me  as  a  monument,  when  I  am  dead,  with 
an  effigy  of  myself  placed  within,  holding  in  its  hand  the  story 
of  Robinson  Crusoe/' 

"  Was  it  the  perusal  of  Robinson  Crusoe  that  first  inspired 
you  with  a  passion  for  the  water  V  asked  Linda. 

"Yes.  Never  shall  I  forget  the  enthusiasm  excited  in  my 
mind  by  the  history  of  that  island  king.  But  a  work  which 
made  a  still  deeper  impression  was  an  account  of  a  mutiny  on 
board  the  ship  Bounty,  or  Pandora,  I  do  not  recollect  which, 
for  the  events,  not  the  names,  are  stamped  on  my  memory. 
There  was  a  British  captain  belonging  to  that  ship,  who, 
forced  by  the  mutineers  into  a  small  boat  with  about  sixteen 
men,  was  left  to  drift  out  on  the  immense  ocean  to  perish  with 
his  starving  crew.  But  with  dauntless  energy  he  guided  that 
frail  boat  over  the  waves  of  the  Pacific,  from  the  islands  of  the 
South  Sea  to  the  northern  shores  of  Australia ;  not  only  rul- 
ing the  billows  of  the  ocean,  but  the  stormier  spirits  of  those 
wild  and  famishing  men.  There  was  a  moral  sublimity  in 
that  man's  character,  of  which  I  never  could  think  without  a 
burst  of  admiration." 

"  I  loved  those  pure,  truth-telling  islanders,"  said  Linda, 
roused  from  her  melancholy  by  the  ardour  of  Roland's  manner; 
"that  lovely  colony  established  by  the  repentant  mutineers  in 
beautiful  Otaheite.  Its  description  reminded  me  of  the  gar- 
den of  Eden,  and  I  could  not  help  wishing,  while  reading  it, 
to  fly  away  from  the  world,  and  dwell  with  those  simple,  good 
beings,  in  that  sweet  wilderness." 

These  remarks  produced  an  animated  discussion,  in  which 
Emily  and  Mr.  Carleton  joined,  on  the  comparative  enjoy- 
ments of  a  civilized  and  savage  life,  and  the  merits  of  the  two 
rival  elements,  earth  and  water. 


OF  THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  131 

"  I  should  think,"  said  Emily,  turning  to  Eoland,  '^  that 
your  enthusiasm  must  have  received  an  effectual  check  by  the 
fatal  accident  which  occurred  to  the  Belle  Creole." 

^^  Not  in  the  least,"  replied  Roland.  '^  I  love  to  contend 
with  danger ;  and  dijQ&culties  only  give  new  ardour  to  a  pur- 
suit. Through  life  we  are  liable  to  accidents  and  death,  but 
where  are  they  accompanied  with  such  indescribable  pomp  and 
sublimity  as  when  fire  and  water  seem  contending  for  mastery, 
and  battling  in  their  might  ?" 

Linda  shuddered,  and  Roland  dismissed  the  theme. 

Thus  evening  after  evening  passed  away,  and  Linda  almost 
forgot  that  she  had  a  step-mother,  whose  summons  might  re- 
call her  to  a  home  from  which  her  father's  death  seemed  for 
ever  to  have  severed  her.  Mr.  Carleton,  at  Linda's  request, 
had  written  to  Mrs.  Walton,  giving  her  an  account  of  the 
death  of  her  husband,  the  rescue  of  Linda,  and  of  her  wish  to 
remain  for  the  present  with  her  friend.  She  was  waiting  with 
anxiety  the  answer  to  this  letter,  though  determined  to  resist 
any  command  for  her  return,  assured  that  nothing  but  perse- 
cution and  trial  awaited  her  at  Pine  Grove,  when  a  messenger 
arrived,  who,  though  not  altog6ther  unexpected,  was  not  tha 
less  dreaded. 

How  peaceful  and  pleasant  every  thing  looked  in  that  charm- 
ing apartment !  The  elegant  taste  of  a  young  and  affianced 
bride  had  fitted  and  adorned  it  just  sufficient  for  a  domestic 
retreat,  without  overloading  it  with  those  costly  ornaments 
proper  only  for  a  magnificent  saloon.  Books,  music,  painting, 
Mr.  Carleton  loved  them  all,  and  so  did  Emily.  But  better 
than  books,  music,  or  painting,  he  loved  a  game  of  chess ;  and 
to  please  her  husband,  Emily  had  become  a  deep  student  at 
the  game,  so  that  she  might  engage  as  his  opponent,  when  no 
more  powerful  champion  entered  the  list.  They  sat  this  night 
at  a  little  table,  so  intent  on  the  movements  of  the  ivory  com- 
batants, that  they  scarcely  listened  to  the  sweet  notes  that 


132  LINDA;   OR,   THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

were  warbling  on  the  opposite  side  of  ttie  room.  Yet  once  in 
a  while,  Emily  would  look  up  and  smile,  while  her  husband 
was  meditating  some  tremendous  move,  and  cast  a  glance  at 
the  piano,  where  Linia  was  seated,  with  Roland  leaning  over 
her  chair.  Linda  had  a  soft,  exquisitely  modulated  voice,  to 
which  Roland  sung  a  deep,  mellow  second,  making  the  richest 
harmony.  He  knew  nothing  of  music  scientifically ;  but  he 
could  imitate  the  notes  of  every  bird  of  the  forest,  and  catch 
the  air  of  any  song  after  having  once  heard  its  melody.  And 
Linda  wanted  no  better  accompaniment  than  the  songster  who 
had  practised  most  by  the  light  of  the  stars,  while  gliding  on 
the  bosom  of  the  winding  Alabama.  It  was  while  Emily  was 
looking  up,  with  one  of  her  moonlight  smiles,  and  those  two 
voices  were  mingling  in  a  sweet  and  prolonged  chorus,  that 
the  door  was  opened,  and  Robert  Graham  ushered  into  the 
apartment.  Emily  started  so  suddenly  that  the  chess-board 
overturned,  and  kings,  queens,  and  bishops  rolled  ingloriously 
on  the  carpet.  Linda  rose  from  the  piano,  and  stood  trans- 
fixed, every  drop  of  blood  forsaking  her  cheeks  and  lips,  while 
Roland,  who  knew,  the  moment  he  beheld  the  tall  intruder, 
that  it  must  be  that  "handsome,  brilliant  Robert,''  whose 
name  was  branded  on  his  memory,  returned  his  haughty  stare 
with  a  glance  equally  haughty,  and  kept  his  station  at  Linda's 
Bide.  Robert  paused  a  moment  at  the  threshold,  to  take  in 
all  the  bearings  of  the  scene  he  interrupted,  and  though  his 
jealous  passions  were  roused  by  the  proximity  of  the  noble- 
looking  young  man,  whose  melodious  accents  still  rung  in  his 
ears,  he  dreamed  not  it  was  that  same  plebeian  hoy,  of  whom 
he  had  so  often  spoken  in  scorn  and  contempt.  Mr.  Carleton's 
respectful,  laconic  letter  had  not  entered  into  particulars,  and 
in  his  hurried  mention  of  facts  he  had  not  told  the  name 
of  the  preserver  of  Linda's  life.  His  wife  had  told  hira 
enougli  0^  the  step-mother's  character  to  convince  him  that  it 
would  be  a  mat'-.er  of  no  interest  to  her;  therefore  Robert  was 


OF   THE    BELLE    CREOLE.  133 

Ignorant  that  Linda  owed  her  preservation  a  second  time  to 
Rohmd  Lee. 

Linda's  excessire  paleness,  for  her  face  was  now  literally 
white  as  marble,  and  her  deep  mourning  dress,  struck  Robert 
with  painful  interest.  He  sprang  towards  her,  grasped  both 
hands  in  his,  with  a  force  of  which  he  was  not  aware,  and  bent 
upon  her  those  eyes  of  intolerable  brightness,  whose  beams 
seemed  to  scorch  while  they  shone. 

"  You  have  suffered,  Linda/'  said  he,  in  a  subdued  voice, 
*^  I  see  it.     I  grieve  for  it." 

When  she  recovered  sufficient  composure,  she  introduced 
her  friends  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Carleton,  and  then  turned  to  Roland 
Lee.  Why  did  the  blood  rush  back  in  burning  torrents  to 
her  cheeks,  and  her  lips  tremble  with  agitation,  as  she  passed 
through  the  same  ceremony  with  these  two  young  men  ?  Ro- 
bert started ;  gave  one  glance  of  astonishment,  which  changed 
into  insufferable  disdain,  while  his  face  became  the  colour  of 
scarlet. 

^'  I  hope  Mrs.  Carleton  will  excuse  me,"  said  he,  with  a 
strong  effort  at  self-possession,  "  for  the  abrupt  manner "  in 
which  I  have  intruded  upon  her.  But  I  have  not  a  moment 
to  lose,  for  the  boat  which  brought  me  returns  early  in  the 
morning,  and  it  would  be  better  that  Linda  should  go  on  board 
to-night.  My  mother  cannot  consent  to  her  longer  stay,  and 
I  am  commissioned  to  bear  her  home." 

"  I  cannot  suffer  her  to  leave  me,"  exclaimed  Emily ;  "  she 
is  not  yet  recovered  from  the  effects  of  her  last  journey.  Mr. 
Carleton  wrote  and  informed  your  mother  that  she  was  to  re- 
main with  me  much  longer.  I  have  had  no  visit  yet.  She 
has  been  sick  and  suffering.  Indeed  !  Indeed  !  I  cannot, 
shall  not  let  her  go." 

"  1  am  sorry  to  dispute  a  lady's  will,"  replied  Robert,  with 
an  imperious  bow,  "  but  my  mother's  claims  are  paramount, 
and  her  commands  invested  with  higher  authority  than  yomy. 


134  LINDA;    OR,    THE   YOUNG    TTLOT 

The  feeblest  invalid  can  travel  in  safety  in  a  boat,  where  she 
can  enjoy  every  comfort  and  luxury  the  land  can  furnish,  and 
I  see  no  evidence  of  Miss  "Walton's  claims  to  that  character." 

^'  No,  no,''  said  Mr.  Carleton,  "  it  is  out  of  the  question. 
Sit  down,  Mr.  Graham,  and  enjoy  the  evening  with  us — the 
morning — days  if  you  like,  but  I  cannot  trust  her  on  that  river 
BO  soon.  This  visit  has  been  a  long-promised  one,  and  it  is 
scarcely  yet  begun.  Why,  one  of  my  inducements  for  marry- 
ing was  to  see  the  little  brown-eyed  girl,  the  pet  of  Rose 
Bower.  Come,  Mr.  Lee,  join  your  persuasions  to  ours.  You 
have  a  right  to  be  heard.  Linda  cannot  go  without  the  per- 
mission of  her  guardian  and  deliverer." 

"  I  should  like  to  know  what  right  this  gentleman  has  to 
interfere,"  cried  Robert,  measuring  Roland  with  an  indignant 
glance,  "  or  who  has  constituted  him  the  guardian  of  Miss 
Linda  AValton." 

"  Heaven,  Robert,  who  made  him  my  preserver,"  interrupted 
Linda,  before  Roland  could  frame  the  haughty  reply  rising  to 
his  lips.  ^'Had  it  not  been  for  him,  I  had  shared  my  father's 
watery  grave.  His  previous  claims  to  gratitude  and  esteem 
you  already  know;  and  I  should  hope  have  learned  to  ap- 
preciate. He  is  not  only  my  friend,  but  the  friend  of  those 
whose  guest  I  am,  and  for  their  sakes,  if  not  for  mine,  Robert, 
I  expect  you  will  remember  what  politeness,  if  not  feeling, 
require*." 

"  Linda,  I  must  speak  with  you  alone,"  said  Robert.  "  I 
cannot  say  what  I  would  in  the  presence  of  strangers.  Mrs. 
Carleton,  allow  me  the  privilege  of  a  few  moments'  private  con- 
versation with  Miss  Walton,  in  an  adjoining  room." 

"'No,  no,"  cried  Linda,  shrinking  back  with  undisguised 
reluctance.  "There  are  no  strangers  here.  You  have  no- 
rhing  to  say,  but  what  the  whole  world  may  hear." 

"  I  fear  I  am,  indeed,  an  intruder,"  said  Roland,  address- 
ing Linda  in  a  low  voice.     "  You  will  not  depart  ?" 


OP   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  135 

^'  No,"  said  Linda,  in  a  still  lower  tone ;  "  I  shall  see  you 
again  on  tlie  morrow.  *  Roland — go,  I  entreat  you." 

"  I  should  not  have  lingered  thus  long,"  added  he,  raising 
his  voice ;  ^'  but  I  would  have  it  fully  understood,  this  apology 
is  addressed  alone  to  you." 

The  eyes  of  the  young  men  met,  as  Roland  passed  through 
the  door,  and  mutual  defiance  spoke  in  their  beams. 

*'  Linda,"  cried  Robert,  "  there  is  no  time  to  lose.  Indeed, 
you  must  accompany  me.  I  come  as  my  mother's  representa- 
tive and  clothed  with  her  authority.  Surely,  you  will  not 
continue  to  resist  it." 

"I  do,"  answered  Linda,  drawing  away  the  hand  he  had 
seized.  "I have  a  sanction  higher  than  hers,  to  remain  where 
I  am.  My  father  gave  me  his  permission,  and  death  has  only 
added  solemnity  to  his  will." 

Robert  walked  the  room  with  a  resounding  tread.  Emily 
gazed  upon  him  with  mingled  admiration  and  terror.  The 
striking  beauty  of  his  face  and  form,  and  the  dark,  violent 
passions  expressed  in  his  countenance,  formed  a  contrast  pain- 
ful to  witness.  Linda  gazed  upon  him  also,  with  a  troubled 
and  varying  countenance.  At  length,  approaching  him,  and 
laying  her  hand  gently  on  his  arm,  she  said,  with  much  emo- 
tion, "  Let  us  go  into  the  other  room,  Robert ;  we  have  indeed 
much  to  say  to  each  other,  in  which  our  friends  cannot  be 
interested." 

A  ray  of  brightness  illumined  his  gloomy  face,  and  eagerly 
snatching  her  hand,  he  led  her  into  the  next  apartment. 

"Now,  Robert,"  she  added,  "sit  down  by  my  side,  and 
listen  to  me  one  moment  in  calmness.  It  grieves  me,  indeed 
it  does,  to  seem  ungrateful  for  the  kindness  you  have  mani  • 
fested  in  coming  thus  far  to  be  my  companion  homeward. 
But  if  you  could  imagine  all  I  have  sufi'ered,  you  would  not 
wonder  that  I  shrink  from  exposing  myself  to  similar  daigers, 


136  LINDA;   OR,  THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

before  my  nerves  have  recovered  strength  to  sustain  them.  I 
need  the  soothing  tenderness  of  Emily — I  need  her  sympathy 
and  love.  Ask  your  own  heart,  Robert,  if  I  should  return  to 
Pine  Grove,  where  would  be  the  tenderness  and  sympathy  that 
would  minister  to  the  wounds  of  an  orphan  heart,  and  chase 
ts  dark  remembrance  ?" 

"  Linda,  fifty  thousand  Emilys  could  not  lavish  upon  you 
half  the  love  and  tenderness  that  fills  my  single  heart." 

"  Ah,  Robert,  that  would  not  make  up  for  the  want  of  wo- 
man's sympathy." 

"  My  mother" — 

"  Speak  not  of  your  mother,"  interrupted  Linda.  '^  She 
never  gave  me  one  look  of  love,  one  word  of  tenderness.  If, 
when  my  father  lived,  who  attempted,  though  often  vainly,  to 
interpose  the  shield  of  parental  affection  between  her  despot- 
ism and  me,  she  almost  crushed  me  with  its  weight,  how  could 
I  resist  it  now,  alone  and  unprotected  ?" 

"  Unprotected  I"  exclaimed  Robert.  "  Shall  not  I  be  your 
protector — your  husband  ?  Once  mine,  a  part  of  myself,  she 
will  transfer  to  you  half  of  the  love  now  bestowed  on  me.  It 
is  only  when  you  oppose  her  will,  you  find  her  hard  and  in- 
flexible. You  weep,  Linda;  you  are  softening,  relenting. 
Come,  she  waits  to  welcome  you  as  her  daughter,  to  embrace 
you  as  the  bride  of  her  son." 

"Robert!"— 

"  No— no — speak  not  to  me  in  that  tone ;  I  cannot  bear  it, 
I  had  rather  be  crushed  at  once  under  the  icebergs  of  the 
Arctic  seas,  than  be  addressed  in  that  freezing  tone,  than  meet 
that  congealing  glance.  It  drives  me  mad,  Linda.  What 
have  I  done  to  merit  this  hatred,  this  contempt?  In  what 
gift  of  nature  or  fortune  am  I  so  unfortunate  as  to  be  lack- 
ing, that  I  cannot  satisfy  your  fastidious  taste  ?  I  have  kept 
my  pledge.     I  have  toiled  and  struggled,  and  won  the  meed 


OP   THE  BELLE   CREOLE.  137 

for  which  I  panted.  I  have  gained  name  and  fame ;  and  now 
I  claim  the  fulfilment  of  your  promise,  written  in  my  own 
blood,  and  worn  next  my  heart,  ever  since  we  parted." 

''I  know  not  what  you  mean,  Robert,"  said  Linda,  trem- 
bling, as  he  drew  forth  a  paper  from  his  bosom,  and  held  it 
before  her  eyes. 

"  Did  you  not  promise,  when  we  last  parted,  that  you  would 
think  of  no  one — love  no  one,  till  we  met  again.  Here  are 
the  characters,  traced  in  the  red  of  my  own  veins.  Have  you 
fulfilled  your  pledge  V 

The  eyes  of  Robert  seemed  to  burn  into  Linda's  throbbing 
heart.  Hers  bowed  beneath  them,  and  her  hand  instinc- 
tively grasped  the  arm  of  the  sofa  for  support. 

"  I  remember  saying  something  of  the  kind,  to  calm  your 
excited  passions.  But,  whatever  it  was,  it  extended  only  to 
my  residence  in  Rose  Bower.  I  knew  not  then  of  the  events 
which  the  future  had  in  store." 

"  By  heavens,  Linda,"  exclaimed  Robert,  starting  up  and 
standing  before  her,  face  to  face,  "your  agitation  confirms 
your  shame.  I  would  not,  could  not  believe,  but  now  I  know 
it  all.  This  Roland  Lee,  this  obscure,  low-born  pilot,  this 
proud,  haughty  upstart,  has  dared  to  come  between  me  and  my 
rights;  but  he  had  better  beware.  He  had  better  not  cross 
the  lion  in  his  path.  By  Him  who  made  me,  sooner  than  you 
should  disgrace  yourself  by  such  an  alliance,  I  would  carry 
you  down  into  the  grave  with  me,  though  my  own  hand  dealt 
the  death-blow." 

"  Cruel,  insulting !"  cried  Linda,  rising  and  fixing  upon 
him  a  glance,  where  every  contending  passion  seemed  strug- 
gling for  mastery.  "You  forget  yourself,  sir.  You  know 
not  whom  you  address  or  whom  you  accuse.  As  for  myself, 
I  (^are  not  what  you  think  of  me ;  but  I  will  vindicate  one, 
of   whose  worth   and   nobleness    you    cannot   even    dream 


138  LINDA;    OR,  THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

Roland  Lee  never  uttered  to  me  one  sentiment  warmer  than 
esteem,  tenderer  than  pity.  He  has  never  presumed  on  the 
mighty  obligations  he  has  imposed  upon  me ;  but  even  if  he 
had,  I  tell  thee,  Robert,  he  is  your  equal  and  mine — equal 
did  I  say — superior ! — and  the  man  lives  not  who  dares  repeat 
a  second  time,  the  words  you  have  just  now  uttered  to  me." 

She  approached  the  door  with  a  rapid  step,  which  Robert, 
withering  under  her  indignation,  durst  not  oppose,  but  pausing, 
as  she  laid  her  hand  upon  the  latch,  and  looking  back  with  a 
moistened  eye,  "  Robert,"  she  said,  "  I  cannot  bear  to  leave 
you  in  anger,  for  you  know  not  what  you  say.  Only  learn  to 
love  me  as  a  brother,  and  I  will  be  to  you  the  tenderest  of 
Bisters,  the  truest  of  friends.  But,  as  for  any  other  tie  bind- 
ing us  together,  it  is  in  vain  to  think  of  it.  Such  a  union 
would  be  unnatural  and  unblest.  Think  of  it  no  more,  Robert, 
think  of  it  no  more  V 

She  opened  the  door  slowly,  for  Robert,  instead  of  follow- 
ing her,  as  she  had  feared,  sunk  back  on  the  sofa,  and  covered 
his  face  with  his  handkerchief.  This  attitude  of  unresisting 
Borrow,  so  unexpected,  so  touching  in  contrast  with  his  late 
fierceness  and  impetuosity,  melted  her  at  once.  She  could 
not  leave  him  so.  She  drew  near,  and  taking  the  hand 
which  lay  passive  by  his  side,  pressed  it  in  both  her  own. 
''Oh,  Robert,  let  us  not  part  in  anger  \" 

Robert  lifted  the  handkerchief  from  his  face,  and  Linda 
uttered  a  startling  scream. 

"  Oh,  my  God !  Robert,  what  have  you  done  ?" 

His  cheek  was  as  colourless  as  the  linen  which  was  stained 
here  and  there  with  streaks  of  blood. 

Mr.  Carleton  and  Emily  rushed  in  at  the  sound  of  Linda^s 
cry,  and  the  house  was  immediately  a  scene  of  confusion.  A 
physician  was  summoned,  who  relieved  Linda's  agonized  ter- 
rors, by  assuring  them  it  was  only  a  very  slight  blood-vessel 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  139 

wliich  was  ruptured — attended  with  no  danger,  ^nd  that  all 
he  needed  was  perfect  quietude. 

Linda  hovered  round  him  with  tender  solicitude,  feeling  as 
if  she  had  just  escaped  the  horror  of  being  a  murderer.  She 
felt  the  deeper  compassion  as  he  was  gentle  and  docile.  The 
stormy  passions  which  had  caused  the  rupture  appeared  to 
have  subsided  with  the  flowing  blood. 

<'  If  he  urges  me  now  to  accompany  him/'  thought  Linda 
sadly,  ^^  I  cannot  refuse — I  dare  not  rouse  again  the  fearful 
strife.'' 

But  Robert,  though  the  next  morning  he  insisted  on  his 
own  departure,  seemed  to  have  yielded  his  will  to  hers.  They 
all  pleaded,  nay  insisted,  that  he  should  remain ;  the  physi- 
cian laid  his  commands  on  him,  but  in  vain.  He  was  perfectly 
well,  he  said,  though  his  colourless  face  belied  his  words. 

"  I  must  leave  you,  Emily,"  said  Linda.  "  I  could  resist 
his  authority  and  pride,  but  his  generosity  subdues  me.  I 
cannot  let  him  depart  alone.  My  destiny  is  darkening  and 
closing  around  me.  I  shall  soon  have  nothing  left  but  sub- 
mission." 

"I  will  accompany  him  myself,"  cried  Mr.  Carleton,  with 
generous  eagerness.  ^'I  am  sure  I  shall  be  a  much  more 
efficient  nurse  than  a  young  lady  who  always  faints  at  the 
sight  of  blood.  I  think,  too,  I  shall  be  able  to  give  a  quietus 
to  his  mother  that  will  prevent  her  farther  interference." 

Linda  could  have  knelt  at  his  feet  and  blest  him  for  his 
kindness,  and  Emily  was  magnanimous  enough  to  give  an  as- 
sent to  the  arrangement,  though  the  horrors  of  the  burning 
boat  were  still  too  fresh  in  her  memory  not  to  fill  her  with 
sad  misgivings.  When  Eobert  learned  Mr.  Carleton' s  deter- 
mination, he  opposed  it  most  strenuously,  but  the  latter  main- 
tained his  resolution  with  such  gay  and  good-humoured  obsti- 
nacy, tt*it  Robert  was  constrained  to  yield. 
9 


140  LINDA;    OR,    THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

*'  Forgive  mo,  Robert,"  cried  the  weeping  Linda,  sinking 
into  bis  arms,  when  tbe  moment  of  departure  came.  "  For- 
give me  all  tbe  pain  I  have  caused  you,  and  believe  me  more 
unhappy  than  yourself.  Continue  to  be  what  you  now  are,  and 
when  I  return  you  shall  find  me  all  a  brother's  heart  can 
wish." 

^'  I  ask  but  one  thing,  Linda,"  said  Robert,  in  a  low  voice ; 
*'  I  claim  nothing  for  myself,  but  return  to  us  free.  Promise 
me  but  this,  and  I  will  depart  content,  if  not  happy  " 

Could  Linda  refuse  a  request,  urged  by  lips  from  which  the 
life-blood  had  so  lately  flowed  ?  "I  promise,"  she  replied,  in 
scarcely  articulate  accents.  A  quick,  passionate  embrace,  a 
trembling  pressure  on  her  pale  cheek,  and  she  was  left  sobbing 
in  the  arms  of  Emily. 


OP  THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  141 


CHAPTER  XII. 

About  a  week  after  Robert's  departure,  Linda  sat  read- 
ing in  the  sitting-room  alone.  Emily  had  retired  eavljj 
on  the  plea  of  a  sick  headache,  and  Linda  intended  soon  to 
follow,  waiting  but  to  finish  a  few  pages  of  a  work  which  fas- 
cinated her  imagination.  The  rain  was  driving  against  the 
windows  in  violent  gusts,  making  the  casements  shiver  as  it 
fell,  and  every  now  and  then  the  wind  would  swell  and  rave 
through  the  trees,  and  then  die  away  with  a  sudden,  deep  sigh, 
as  if  repenting  the  rude  manner  in  which  it  had  twisted  tho 
young  branches  and  scattered  their  green  leaves  in  the  blast. 
Linda  looked  up  from  her  book  and  listened  to  the  sobs  of  the 
stormy  gale.  It  reminded  her  of  Robert,  and  she  sighed  at 
the  wreck  his  ungoverned  passions  might  cause.  It  is  true 
they  had  subsided  like  that  raving  wind,  but  they  retained  all 
their  strength,  and  might  burst  forth  at  any  moment  in  tlie 
whirlwind  or  the  tempest,  desolating  the  moral  world.  Per- 
haps she  thought  of  another,  for  her  eyes  wandered  dream- 
ingly  over  the  pages,  and  the  spell  of  genius  no  longer  held 
her  captive.  The  moaning  sound  of  the  wind  made  her  feel 
very  sad,  and,  yielding  to  the  oppression  that  weighed  down 
her  spirits,  she  suffered  her  arm  to  fall  across  the  table,  her 
cheek  to  droop  lower  and  lower,  till  it  pressed  the  open  pages 
of  her  book,  and  then  closed  her  eyes  to  keep  back  the  tear* 
that  gathered  heavy  on  their  lids. 

The  door  opened,  but  Linda  raised  not  her  head.  She 
thought  it  a  servant ;  for  who  would  come  abroad  such  a  night 
as  this  ?  A  hand  gently  laid  on  her  shoulder,  and  a  sad-toned, 
mellow  voice,  uttering  the  name  of  Linda,  made  her  start  and 
tremble. 


142  LINDA;    OR;  THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

^^  Roland  Lee  !  what  brought  yon  here  in  such  a  driving 
storm  't  You  are  pale — ^you  are  agitated :  tell  me  what  has 
happened." 

"  You  will  think  me  very  weak  when  you  learn  it  is 
the  thought  of  saying  farewell  that  has  shaken  my  nerves 
thus.  It  is  so  much  sooner  than  I  anticipated,  that" — he 
paused,  but  Linda  was  silent,  and  he  continued,  in  a  hurried 
manner — "I  have  been  appointed  pilot  of  a  new  boat  just 
completed,  which  is  baptized  the  Evening  Star.  The  captain 
is  a  noble-hearted  man,  and  a  warm,  disinterested  friend  of 
mine.  It  is  to  run  on  the  Mississippi — that  great  river — the 
winding  ocean  of  America.  Linda,  I  ought  to  rejoice,  for  I 
cannot  afford  to  be  an  idle  man ;  but  can  I,  when  I  must  leave 
you  in  a  few  hours,  unknowing  when  or  where  we  shall  meet 
again  ?" 

Linda  was  terrified  at  the  anguish  she  felt  at  the  thought 
of  parting  with  Roland.  It  swept  over  her  so  suddenly  and 
powerfully,  it  deprived  her  of  utterance  or  motion.  Too  much 
agitated  himself  to  comprehend  the  emotions  that  chained  her 
tongue,  he  was  pained  by  her  silence,  and  went  on  more  ra- 
pidly still,  as  if  fearful  of  a  pause  in  his  present  excited 
state  of  mind. 

'^  Before  I  leave  you,  Linda,  as  you  have  allowed  me  to  call 
you  by  the  name  dear  to  my  boyhood,  let  me  thank  you  for 
the  condescension  you  have  ever  shown  to  one  on  whom  many 
like  yourself  would  have  looked  down  upon  as  an  inferior. 
How  I  have  blessed  your  gentleness  and  kindness,  none  ^but 
my  God  knoweth.  I  have  tried  not  to  be  presumptuous ;  I 
have  endeavoured  to  remember  the  difference  in  our  for- 
tunes  " 

^'  Talk  not  of  presumption,  Roland,"  interrupted  Linda, 
with  a  burst  of  feeling  wholly  irrepressible.  '^  Be  not  so 
Tinjust  to  yourself  or  me.  What  do  I  not  owe  you  ?  Leave 
me  not  with  such  a  burden  of  gratitude  weighing  upon  my 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  143 

heart.  Show  me  some  way  in  which  I  can  prove  that  I  am 
not  aicogether  an  ingrate." 

"  Do  not  speak  of  gratitude,  Linda ;  I  cannot  bear  the 
word." 

"  Alas !  I  am  a  bankrupt  even  in  words,"  she  cried, 
looking  down,  her  cheeks  covered  with  a  deepenmg  glow. 

There  was  an  expression  in  Roland's  eye  she  dared  not  in- 
terpret, yet  it  quickened  every  pulsation  of  her  heart.  Slowh 
drawing  from  her  finger  a  glittering  ring — "  This  ring,"  she 
added,  "  is  one  of  the  few  links  that  bind  me  to  the  past. 
Almost  all  my  treasures  were  buried  in  the  wreck ;  but  this 
was  on  my  finger  when  you  rescued  me  from  a  fiery  or  a 
watery  grave,  and  it  may  be  to  you  a  memento  of  the  life  you 
have  preserved." 

Her  hand  trembled  as  she  extended  it  to  Roland,  and  a  mist 
covered  her  sight. 

"I  cannot  take  it — I  dare  not,"  exclaimed  he,  dropping 
the  hand  which  for  one  moment  he  had  imprisoned  in  his 
passionate  grasp.  "I  cannot  take  it  as  a  pledge  of  gratitude; 
it  would  only  mock  the  wild  beating  of  a  proud  and  too  aspir- 
ing heart.  No,  no,  Linda,  rather  let  me  forget  you  for  ever, 
since  your  remembrance  must  henceforth  constitute  the  misery 
as  well  as  the  glory  of  my  life." 

"  Speak  to  me,  Roland,  in  this  moment,  perhaps  the  last 
we  shall  ever  pass  together,  as  if  I  were  the  poorest,  humblest 
maiden  of  the  land.  Forget  that  I  am  so  unfortunate  as  to 
be  an  heiress ;  meet  me,  as  I  am,  your  equal,  and  tell  me 
why  my  remembrance  must  make  your  existence  wretched." 

Thus  addressed,  with  such  pure,  earnest,  beseeching,  yet 
modest  eyes  raised  to  his,  is  it  wonderful  that  Roland  forgot  ail 
the  strong  resolutions  with  which  he  had  armed  himself,  and 
suffered  his  soul  to  gush  forth  in  one  full,  deep  stream  of 
long-repressed  passion  ?  He  did  not  know  that  he  knelt ;  he 
was  borne  down  by  the  tide  of  his  overpowering  emotions; 


144  LINDA;    OR,    THE   YOUXG   PILOT 

he  knew  not  what  words  he  uttered — he  only  felt  that  the 
hour  was  come  when  he  must  speak  or  die.  Seldom  has  man 
felt  or  woman  inspired  a  worship  so  single  or  so  pure.  His 
spirit  was  full  of  enthusiasm — that  divine  fire  which  gives 
warmth  and  soul  to  every  virtue,  and  purifies  the  passions 
from  the  alloy  of  earth.  In  boyhood,  Nature  reigned  the 
unrivalled  mistress  of  his  soul,  and,  whether  she  appeared 
clothed  in  clouds  or  sunbeams,  on  the  mountain  or  in  the  val- 
ley, he  loved  her  still ;  but,  when  she  came  gliding  through 
the  waves,  in  her  mantle  of  azure  fringed  with  white,  with 
the  stars  on  her  bosom  or  the  sun  on  her  brow,  his  love  be- 
came adoration.  This  impassioned  worship,  Linda,  the  fair 
young  traveller,  was  the  fii"st  who  ever  shared.  The  image 
of  the  sweet,  little  girl,  with  soft,  loving  eyes  and  angelic 
smile,  followed  him  wherever  he  went,  and  whispered  to  him 
of  gentle  things,  when  he  roamed  the  forest  or  floated  on  the 
stream.  Again  he  met  her  in  the  glow  and  the  freshness  of 
her  girlhood — met  her  in  those  thrilling  scenes  which  waken 
to  sensibility  the  coldest  heart.  What,  then,  was  their  efi'ect 
on  such  a  heart  as  Roland's  ?  We  have  seen,  and  Linda  now 
felt  and  knew. 

And  she,  if  she  had  loved  Roland  before,  when  the  glance 
of  his  eye  and  the  tones  of  his  voice  had  conveyed  to  her  the 
hope  that  she  was  beloved,  how  did  she  receive  this  outpouring 
of  the  heart  and  soul — this  revelation  of  each  bosom-thought 
and  wish  so  long  cherished  in  silence  and  pride  ?  The  mo- 
ment that  woman  has  an  assurance  of  the  love  which  she 
would  barter  the  universe,  were  it  hers,  to  obtain,  must  be  the 
happiest  of  her  existence.  Linda  had  reached  this  crisis  of 
her  being.  Though  there  was  sorrow  behind  her  and  dark- 
ness before,  she  had  touched  one  bright,  luminous  point — one 
dazzling  focus  of  bliss — where  her  spirit  fainted  from  the 
excess  of  joy  and  light. 

The  first  word  which  broke  the  silence  that  lingered  like  a 


OP   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  145 

hoV  spell  around  them,  was  "  Robert/^  nttercd  by  Linda,  in 
1  startlincr  tone.  He  seemed  to  be  gliding  between  them  with 
ghosMike°solemnity,  reminding  her  of  her  promise  to  return 
free,  and  threatening  her  with  that  wedlock  in  the  grave,  to 
which  he  had  doomed  her,  in  preference  to  a  union  with  Ro- 
land She  saw,  in  the  future,  scenes  of  violence  and  blood ; 
and,  shuddering,  she  drew  back  from  Roland's  arms,  while 
the  warm  roses,  whose  bloom  was  deepened  by  the  breath  of 
love,  faded  on  her  cheek. 

('  No,  no  V  she  cried,  veiling  her  eyes  with  her  hand,  a3 
if  to  shut  out  the  prophetic  vision;  "I  dare  not  promise  to 
be  yours.  I  have  pledged  my  word  to  return  free.  I  feared 
to  refuse,  lest  the  life-blood  should  again  gush  forth.  While 
Robert  lives,  I  never  can  wed  another.  Hush !  you  don't 
know  him  as  I  know  him.  You  could  not  even  dream  of  the 
strength,  the  frenzy  of  his  passions.  He  would  pursue  you 
with  unrelenting  vengeance  to  the  world's  end.  A  three-fold 
sacrifice  would  be  the  awful  result.  No,  Roland,  I  cannot 
hazard  such  consequences;  the  guilt  of  murder  would  be  on 
my  soul !  I  can  love  you— live  for  you— die  for  you,  Ro- 
land, but  not  with  you." 

In  vain  Roland  talked  of  bearing  her  to  some  sweet  spot  on 
the  banks  of  the  Mississippi, 

"Where  the  bright  eyes  of  angels  only 
Should  come  around  them,  to  behold 
A  paradise  so  pure  and  lonely." 

She  remembered  the  prostrate  form  of  Robert,  the  pallid 
cheek,  the  blood-stained  handkerchief,  and  she  still  repeated, 
''  I  should  be  a  murderer."  But,  while  she  resisted  his  en- 
treaties, she  breathed  to  him  sentiments  like  these  to  cheer 
him  in  the  parting  hour — 

"Yes,  if  there  be  some  happier  sphere, 
Where  fadeless  truth,  like  ours,  is  dear— 


146  LINDA;    OR,  THE   YOUNQ   PILOT 

If  there  be  any  land  of  rest. 

For  those  who  love,  and  ne'er  forget, — 

Oh,  comfort  thee — for  safe  and  bless'd 

We'll  meet  in  that  calm  region  yet."  • 

Roland  did  not  despond.  He  was  young,  brave,  and  hope- 
ful. No  dangers  daunted,  no  difficulties  impeded  his  spirit. 
Assured  of  Linda's  love,  the  future  spread  out  before  him  a 
boundless  firmament,  studded  with  suns,  before  whose  bright- 
ness all  clouds  melted  away.  He  pitied  Robert,  but  he  feared 
him  not.  Passion,  unfed,  must  waste  away  and  die,  even  if 
it  have  the  strength  of  a  giant. 

"  See,  is  not  that  an  omen  of  happiness  ?"  exclaimed  he, 
pointing  to  the  heavens  through  the  parted  curtains.  A  sin- 
gle, glorious  star,  pillowed  on  a  bed  of  azure,  was  shining  be- 
low the  dark  canopy  of  clouds  that  hung  gloomiiy  above. 

And  long  after  Roland  was  gone,  Linda  sat  in  the  silence 
of  night  gazing  from  her  window  at  that  one  burning  star, 
though  ten  thousand  others  now  glittered  in  the  blue,  un- 
clouded heavens,  and  mingled  their  silvery  effulgence  ii  jio 
milky-way. 


OF  THE  BELLE  CREOLE.  1^7 


CHAPTER  Xin.  I 

Mr  Carleton  returned  at  the  expected  time,  but  not  alone. 
Emily,  in  her  joy  at  meeting  him  after  their  first  separation, 
saw  no  one  but  her  husband;  but  Linda  beheld  the  veiled 
ficnire  that  accompanied  him,  and  she  recollected  when  she 
had  first  seen  it  descend  from  her  father's  carriage,  about  eight 
years  before.     A  cold  shudder  ran  through  her  frame,  when 
the  green  veil  was  lifted,  and  she  beheld  again  those  stony, 
flint-like  eyes,  that  dry,  shining,   parchment  forehead,  and 
those  pale,  shrivelled  lips.     More  horrible  and  unnatural  than 
ever  looked  the  white  semi-circles  of  her  brows,  in  contrast 
with  the  black  dress  which  she  wore  in  mockery  of  her  widow- 
hood. P  •         J.T,    4. 

"  I  thought  I  would  come  myself,"  said  the  soft  voice  that 
always  made  her  blood  curdle,  "  since  Robert  was  so  unsuc- 
cessful.     We  cannot   be  without  you  any  longer  at  Pme- 

Grove." 

<^How  is  Robert?"  asked  Linda,  with  real  anxiety,  con- 
scious she  was  the  cause  of  his  indisposition. 

^^He  is  not  well,"  replied  his  mother.  "He  looks  very 
badly,  but  with  a  little  of  your  nursing  he  will  soon  be 

better." 

"For  mercy's  sake,  Edmund,"  exclaimed  Emily,  when 
Linda  had  retired  with  Mrs.  Walton,  who  wished  to  change 
her  travelling  apparel,  "what  made  you  bring  that  horrid 
woman  with  you?  Why,  she  looks  like  the  witch  of  Endor. 
She  has  half-petrified  me  already;  and  then  that  gliding  ser- 
pent voice,  I  hear  it  hissing  yet.  Poor  Linda,  how  I  pity  her. 
Oh !  Edmund,  how  came  you  to  let  her  come  with  you  ?" 


148  LINDA;    OR,   THE  YOUNG   PILOT 

*^  Because  I  could  not  help  it/'  answered  her  liusband, 
laughing  at  the  unafFcctcd  horror  of  Emily's  countenance.  ''I 
knew  nothing  of  her  intention,  till  I  saw  her  trunk  and  band- 
box at  the  side  of  mine,  and  was  told  the  lady  placed  herself 
under  my  protection.  I  was  obliged  to  make  a  bow,  and  sub- 
mit with  the  best  grace  possible,  though  in  my  heart  I  wished 
her  with  Pharaoh's  host,  at  the  bottom  of  the  Ked  Sea.  Lin- 
da will  be  compelled  now  to  return,  for  that  woman  has  a  will 
of  iron — nay,  more  inflexible  than  iron ;  for  the  metal  will 
bend  after  passing  through  the  furnace,  but  I  question  whether 
the  power  exists  that  can  fuse  the  elements  of  her  nature. '' 

^'  And  Robert,  Edmund,  what  do  you  think  of  him  V 

"  Why,  I  pity  him,  Emily,  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart. 
Were  he  left  to  himself,  I  think  he  would  give  up  a  pursuit 
that  makes  Linda  wretched,  without  advancing  his  own  happi- 
ness. But  his  mother  is  constantly  feeding  the  worst  passions 
of  his  nature.  Heavens  !  it  is  strange,  the  influence  that  wo- 
man exercises  over  her  household,  yet  she  never  raises  her 
voice  louder  than  you  have  heard  it.  I  think,"  added  he, 
after  a  pause,  "  that  Robert  will  win  the  day,  and  that  Linda 
■will  yield  at  last.  He  is  very  handsome,  and  such  impassioned 
love  might  move  a  heart  of  stone." 

"  You  forget  Roland  Lee." 

"'No;  but  his  pride  is  greater  than  his  love,  and  he  will 
die  without  revealing  it,  from  the  fear  of  being  thought  mer- 
cenary and  presumptuous." 

Emily,  whose  aristocratic  prejudices  had  long  since  yielded 
,to  the  charm  of  Roland's  manners,  told  her  husband  all 
that  Linda  had  confided  to  her,  of  the  avowed  attachment 
subsisting  between  Roland  and  herself;  and  Mr.  Carleton 
Bympathized  as  deeply  as  his  wife  in  the  feelings  she  de- 
Bcribed. 

'* Poor  Linda!"  again  repeated  Emily.  ^' I  know  not  what 
will  become  of  her      1  should  tremble  myself  at  the  idea  of  hex 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  149 

marrying  Roland,  for  Robert  would  run  mad  and  kill  himself, 
or  her,  or  him,  or  all  three.  Oh,  if  I  could  only  hope  'to  see 
her  one  day  as  happy  as  I  am,  her  wildest  dreams  of  romance 
could  ask  no  more." 

Mr.  Carleton  smiled  tenderly  on  his  wife,  and  reiterated 
the  conjugal  wish.  The  entrance  of  Linda  and  her  step-mo- 
ther put  a  stop  to  their  confidential  conversation,  and  Emily 
was  forced  to  play  the  polite  hostess  to  this  unwelcome  and 
formidable  woman.  She  looked,  if  possible,  still  more  disagree- 
able, divested  of  her  bonnet  and  shawl,  for  the  hard,  sharp 
outlines  of  her  features  were  more  distinctly  observed. 

'^  You  must  not  think  of  depriving  me  of  Linda,'^  Emily 
ventured  to  say.  "  We  planned  this  visit  in  Rose  Bower, 
and  taiked  of  a  thousand  pleasures  we  have  not  yet  had  au 
opportunity  of  enjoying.'' 

"  She  has  already  been  here  five  weeks." 

'^B-:it  she  has  been  sick.  I  always  count  sick  days  as 
blanks." 

'^  I  shall  remain  a  few  days  to  attend  to  some  shopping," 
replied  Mrs.  Walton :  "  she  must  be  ready  to  return  with  me 
then.  I  have  particular  reasons  for  wishing  her  at  home.  I 
was  very  glad  of  so  favourable  an  opportunity  of  travelling 
with  your  husband." 

'^  Oh  !  that  I  had  kept  him  at  home,"  groaned  Emily  within 
herself.  She  cast  a  dismal  glance  at  Linda,  on  whose  cheek 
a  bright  red  spot  was  burning,  of  the  same  dye  as  that  which 
stained  Caesar's  brow. 

^^  I  should  like  the  assistance  of  your  taste,  Mrs.  Carleton," 
continued  Mrs.  Walton,  "  if  it  will  not  be  too  much  trouble. 
I  wish  to  purchase  some  dresses  for  Linda.  You  can  direct 
me  to  the  most  fashionable  stores." 

"  Thanks  to  Emily's  kindness,"  said  Linda,  looking  sadly 
at  her  mournir.g  dress;  "  I  have  an  ample  supply.  You  are 
very  kind,  but  indeed  it  is  not  necessary." 


150  LINDA;   OR,  THE   YOUNG  PILOT 

"You  need  not  trouble  yourself  about  it;"  said  tlie  impor- 
turbable  woman.  "  I  will  go  out  to-morrow  morning  with  Mrs. 
Carleton,  and  you  can  do  as  you  please  about  coming  with 
us." 

"Put  on  your  bonnet,  Linda,"  said  Emily,  running  up 
Btairs,  after  Mrs.  Walton,  equipped  in  her  severe-looking 
bhck  bonnet  and  green  veil,  entered  the  room.  "  Your  step- 
mother seems  in  such  an  obliging  mood,  you  ought  to  enjoy 
it  with  me." 

"  There's  something  hidden,  I  fear,  under  this  seeming  kind- 
ness," answered  Linda,  mournfully. 

"  She  has  the  most  singular  countenance  I  ever  saw,"  con- 
tinued Emily,  putting  on  her  gloves.  "  I  wonder  where  Ro- 
bert got  his  beauty.  I  suspect  his  father  must  have  been  a 
handsome  man.^" 

"  I  have  been  told  that  he  was,"  replied  Linda,  sighing  at 
the  remembrance  of  her  own  father. 

Mrs.  Walton  was  unusually  gracious,  and  in  every  store 
where  they  stopped,  she  attributed  the  broad  and  prolonged 
Etare  fixed  upon  her,  as  a  tribute  to  her  dignified  and  imposing 
appearance. 

"  Have  you  any  handsome  white  satin  ? — any  rich  blonde 
lace  ?"  were  the  startling  interrogations  that  met  Linda's  ear. 
What  could  she  want  with  white  satin  and  blonde  lace,  when 
they  were  both  in  deep  mourning  ? 

"  I  thought  you  wished  to  purchase  some  dresses  for  Lin- 
da," remarked  Emily,  as  the  lady  fixed  upon  some  satin  and 
iace,  which  she  declared  superior  to  any  she  had  seen. 

"  And  so  I  do,"  she  replied,  ordering  the  required  number 
of  yards  to  be  measured  off. 

"  Stop,  madam,"  said  Linda,  shuddering  as  if  she  had  seen 
directions  given  for  her  shroud.  "You  forget  that  I  am  in 
mourning.  I  cannot  wear  that  dress  Indeed,  you  must  not 
get  it." 


OF  THE  UELLE   CREOLE.  151 

"  You  will  wear  it  when  occasion  requires,"  said  her  step- 
mother, turning  again  to  the  merchant,  and  asking  for  white 
gloves  and  shoes.  Linda  cast  a  despairing  glance  at  Emily. 
She  could  not  venture  upon  a  scene  in  that  public  place.  She 
dared  not  utter  the  words  burning  on  her  lips,  but  sat  like  a 
victim,  about  to  be  bound  to  the  stake. 

^^  Had  you  not  better  wait  till  she  does  require  them  ?"  in- 
terposed Emily.  "  I  shall  be  happy  to  make  purchases  for 
you  at  any  time.  Satin  and  lace  both  become  yellow  when 
long  laid  aside.'' 

'^  There  is  no  danger  of  their  turning  yellow,"  said  Mrs. 
Walton,  continuing  the  purchase. 

"  Oh,  heavens  V  exclaimed  Linda,  starting  up,  and  forget- 
ting in  her  excitement  where  she  was.     "  What  shall  I  do  ?" 

^'  The  young  lady  seems  ill,"  said  the  gentleman  behind 
the  counter,  looking  compassionately  at  the  young  and  beauti- 
ful face,  wearing  an  expression  of  such  intense  distress. 

"  We  can  return  home  now,"  said  Mrs.  Walton,  directing 
her  packages  to  be  put  in  the  carriage.  Linda  uttered  not  a 
word  during  their  homeward  ride.  She.  went  in  silence  to  her 
chamber,  where  her  step-mother  followed,  and,  one  by  one,  put 
the  articles  she  had  purchased  in  her  travelling  trunk.  When 
the  last  bundle  was  deposited,  and  the  trunk-  locked,  Mrs. 
Walton  rose  from  her  kneeling  position,  and  met  the  eyes  of 
Linda  fixed  steadfastly  upon  her.  There  was  something  in 
their  expression  that  made  her  turn  her  head  hastily  aside, 
and  she  pretended  to  be  looking  for  her  handkerchief,  on  the 
other  side  of  the  room. 

"  May  I  ask  for  what  purpose  you  have  been  kind  enoug 
to  purchase  those  dresses,  madam  ?"  inquired  Linda. 

^'  I  should  think  no  explanation  was  necessary,"  was  the 
cold  reply.  "  I  intend  my  daughter-in-law  shall  appear  as  be- 
comes her  property  and  mine.  You  know  what  is  customary 
for  a  bride  to  wear." 


152  LINDA ;    OR,  THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

"  Talk  not  of  bridal  garments  to  me,"  exclaimed  Linda, 
passionately.  "  I  would  sooner  exchange  these  sad-coloured 
robes  for  my  grave-clothes,  than  put  on  the  marriage  finery 
you  have  purchased.'' 

^'I  had  hoped,"  replied  the  step-mother,  ^^that  having 
learned  by  this  time  the  uselessness  of  opposing  my  will,  you 
were  prepared  to  yield,  without  such  unbecoming  violence. 
But,  instead  of  becoming  more  gentle  and  easy  to  be  per- 
suaded, you  are  more  rebellious  and  headstrong  than  ever.  I 
sent  my  son  to  bring  you  home,  and  you  dared  to  disobey, 
treating  him  with  scorn  and  contempt.  Yes,''  she  added, 
grinding  her  teeth,  as  if  to  whet  her  hidden  passion,  "  you 
have  done  what  no  one  yet  has  had  the  hardihood  to  do, 
openly  and  boldly  refused  obedience  to  my  commands.  Poor, 
pitiful  thing  !  did  you  expect  to  do  it  with  impunity  ?  You 
forgot  you  had  no  weak  father  by  you,  to  uphold  you  in  your 
disobedience  and  folly,  and  try,  but  in  vain,  to  separate  you 
from  my  power." 

"  Oh  !  my  father,"  cried  Linda,  clasping  her  hands  wildly 
together,  "  must  I  hear  your  sacred  memory  thus  profaned  ? 
Woman,  if  you  had  seen  him  as  I  saw  him,  crisped  and  black- 
ened, quivering  in  agonies  too  terrible  to  think  of,  the  remem- 
brance would  haunt  you  to'  your  dying  day.  You  would  not 
dare  to  insult  his  name,  or  heap  persecution  on  his  helpless 
daughter.  Would  to  heaven  I  had  perished  with  him,  rather 
than  live  to  be  the  victim  of  your  tyranny." 

'^  You  can  talk  well,  very  well,  Miss  Linda.  You  learned 
something  at  school.  You  took  lessons  in  rhetoric,  I  believe'; 
but  there  are  some  lessons  I  can  teach  you  better  than  Madam 
Reveire.  We  have  a  long  account  to  settle,  and  a  day  of 
reckoning  will  soon  come.  You  have  stolen  from  me,  by  your 
viie  arts,  the  affections  of  my  son.  I  wanted  him  to  marry 
you  for  your  fortune,  for  I've  sworn  that  shall  be  his;  but  that 
he  should  be  such  a  fool  as  to  think  of  loving  yuu  in  earnest, 


OP   THE   BELLE   CREOLE. 


153 


I  would  not  have  believed  it.  To  hear  him  talk  oi  his  hap- 
piness  being  blasted  for  ever,  and  by  you  !— Ungrateful,  hai^d- 
hearted  creature;  you  have  destroyed  his  health,  you  have  en- 
dangered his  life.  I  do  not  believe  you  would  shed  one  tear, 
if  you  saw  him  dead  at  your  feet.'' 

Her  dry  lips  began  to  quiver,  and  a  tear  actually  moistened 
her  glazed  and  pitiless-looking  eyes.  There  was  one  vulner- 
able place  in  her  heart.  The  dew  of  the  cavern  had  not  all 
hardened  into  stone. 

Linda  caught  that  sign  of  human  sensibility,  and  hailed  it 
as  the  pilgrim  hails  the  fountain  in  the  burning  desert.  She 
had  a  mother's  heart,  and  might  be  made  to  feel  for  her. 
Springing  forward,  she  cast  herself  on  her  knees  before  her, 
and  wound  her  arms  round  her  dark  raiments. 

"Oh,  madam,  I  do  pity  Robert.     I  love  him  as  a  brother. 
I  would  sacrifice  my  life  to  restore  him  to  health  and  happi- 
ness, if  either  have  been  lost  through  me.     But  I  never  want- 
ed him  to  love  me  with  any  thing  but  fraternal  affection.     1 
told  him  so  two  years  ago.     I  told  you  the  same.     Oh  !  you 
must  remember  it.     You  know  I  never  deceived  him.     Force 
me  not,  I  pray,  force  me  not  into  this  marriage.     It  would 
kill  us  both,  for  the  more  he  loves  me,  the  more  wretched  he 
would  be.     I  will  go  to  him,  and,  if  he  is  sick,  I  will  watch 
him  like  the  fondest,  tenderest  of  sisters,  if  you  will  ask  no 
more.     You  shall  never  have  cause  to  reproach  me  for  rebel- 
lion  and  pride.     I  will  show  you  all  the  respect  and  obedience 
of  a  daughter.     Every  night  your  name  shall  go  up,  mingled 
with  blessings  to  the  orphan's  God.     Nay,  you  must  not  leave 
me.     You  are  moved.     I  see  it.     You  cannot  conceal  it.     Yoa 
will  not  harden  your  heart  against  me.     You  will  be  touched 
with  compassion  for  the  fatherless,  motherless  girl,  who  pray? 
you  to  have  pity  on  her  helplessness  and  youth." 

Thus  supplicated  Linda,  with  her  white  arms,  from  which 
the  sleeves  di'ooped  back,  still  wrapped  round  the  widow's 


154  LINDA;    OR,   THE   YOUNG  PILOT 

Bable  folds,  and  her  upturned,  glistening  eyes,  pleading  with  an 
angel's  eloquence.  Yes  !  the  rock  was  moved.  The  tear,  that 
had  trembled  for  some  time  on  the  stony  surface,  rolled  slowly 
and  reluctantly,  like  wintry  sleet,  down  her  sallow  cheek. 
Still  the  rock  was  harder  than  that  smitten  by  the  Jewish 
prophet's  wand.  A  fountain  gushed  forth  at  his  touch,  but 
this  sweet  suppliant  extracted  only  one  tiny  drop. 

"  Be  kind  to  Robert,''  said  she,  holding  out  her  hand  to 
Linda,  '^  and  you  shall  find  a  mother  in  me." 

This  was  equivocal  consolation,  for  kindness  to  Robert,  in 
her  acceptation  of  the  expression,  might  embrace  a  wide  mean- 
ing: still  Linda  felt  comforted. 

^^  She  can  feel }  she  is  human,''  repeated  she  to  herself: 
*'  she  is  not  made  all  of  granite,  and  I  may  yet  hope." 

With  the  elasticity  of  youth,  lier  spirit  rebounded  from  the 
pressure  of  despair,  and  a  gleam  of  brightness  dawned  on  the 
darkness  of  the  future.  Robert  had  shown  some  delicacy,  and 
his  mother  one  touch  of  feeling.  That  night  she  sat  at  her 
casement,  and  sought  the  star  of  Roland  from  all  the  innu- 
merable host  of  heaven ;  and  as  its  silver-beaming  eye  re- 
turned her  earnest  and  adoring  gaze,  that  ^'  glorious  voice," 
which  hath  no  real  sound,  whispered  to  her  soul  of  everlabt- 
ing  joy,  never-ending  peace,  and  undying  lov^e. 


OF  THE   BELLE   CREOLE. 


155 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

The  sad  parting  with  lier  friends,  the  monotonous  passago 
on  the  river,  were  over,  and  Linda  was  once  more  wending  her 
homeward  way,  near  the  shores  of  the  Alabama.     Weary  and 
abstracted,  she  leaned  back  in  the  carriage,  and  looked  out  on 
the  gathering  shades  of  twilight  till  they  deepened  into  night, 
which  grew  darker  and  darker  as  they  plunged  deeper  into 
the  pine  forest  that  skirted  the  road.     It  is  the  most  melan- 
choly thing  in  the  world  to  travel  through  a  pine  forest  at 
night.     To  look  out  and  see  nothing  but  the  tall,  dim,  stately 
cohimns,  crowned  with  their  dark  capitals,  stretching  on  in 
everlasting  continuity— others,  yet  still  the  same— and  hear 
the  mournful  rustling  of  the  boughs  above  the  head;  it  seems 
like  passing  through  some  grand,  interminable  corridor,  where 
invisible  minstrels  are  chanting  low,  dirge-like   music,  and 
imagination  looks  beyond  the  pillared  multitude  to  catch  a 
glimpse  of  the  long  funeral  procession,  hastening  on  to  the 
place  of  graves.     There  is  something  melancholy,  too,  in  the 
dull,  heavy  sound  of  the  wheels  sinking  in  the  sandy  road— 
the  laboured  tread  of  the  weary  horses— the  protracted  yawn 
of  the  drowsy  driver. 

^^  Wish  we  didn't  have  to  go  this  roundabout  way  home," 
muttered  Tom,  trailing  his  long  whip  in  the  sand.  ^'  'Twould 
be  a  mighty  short  distance  from  the  boat,  if  one  could  go 
straight  across.  I  always  did  despise  this  road.  'Tamt  fi» 
for  a  nigger  to  drive,  any  way  you  can  fix  it." 

"  Tom,"  said  Mrs.  Walton,  '^  you  had  better  drive  fastt^r } 
we  shall  not  reach  home  before  midnight,  at  this  rate." 

"  I  tell  you,  missus,"  replied  Tom,  <'  one  of  these  horses  is 
ailing.     T'other  one  keep  pull,  pull,  and  he   sneak  all  the 
10 


156  LINDA;    OR,   THE   YOUNO   PILOT 

time  beliiud.     We  got  a  mighty  bad  Lill  to  go  up,  too,  'fore  we 
Bee  home." 

^'  Let  us  get  out  and  walk,"  said  Linda,  and  Mrs.  Walton, 
fearing  for  her  sick  horse,  approved  the  proposition. 

Even  Linda's  light  footsteps  were  clogged  by  the  sand,  now 
heavy  with  the  dews  of  night,  and  they  dragged  wearily  along. 
She  wished  there  was  a  moon,  that  friend  of  the  traveller,  to 
cheer  them  on  the  way,  for  nothing  could  be  more  dreary  than 
the  sound  of  the  whippoorwilFs  voice  wailing  on  the  ear, 
or  the  solemn  hootings  of  the  owl,  heard  from  the  topmost 
boughs  of  the  pines. 

Tom  at  length  came  to  a  dead  halt. 

"  Look  here,  missus,"  said  he,  "  sure  as  you  be  born,  this 
horse  foundered.  He  drink,  drink  too  much  at  the  creek  back; 
he  won't  go  one  step  ;  he  blow  and  puff  like  a  windmill." 

Mrs.  Walton  was  struck  with  dismay.  She  knew  by  the 
laboured  breathing  of  the  horse  that  Tom's  fears  were  not 
without  foundation.  But  what  was  to  be  done  ?  They  had 
lanterns  to  the  carriage;  but  she  had  forgotten  to  take 
matches,  and  there  was  no  one  near  to  whom  she  could  apply 
for  assistance. 

"  Hark  !"  exclaimed  Linda ;  ^^  I  hear  the  sound  of  negroes 
singing  not  far  off.  I  thought  we  could  not  be  far  from  Mr. 
Marshall's  plantation.     See,  here  is  a  by-path  leading  to  it." 

"  What  of  that  ?"  uttered  Mrs.  Walton.  "  Tom  cannot 
leave  the  horse  in  this  condition.  Linda,  you  must  be  the 
Jonah  of  our  household,  for  you  carry  ill  luck  with  you 
wherever  you  go.  The  first  journey  your  father  took  you  his 
finest  horse  was  killed,  and  now  my  other  best  carriage-horse 
is  going  to  die.  If  3"ou  had  come  with  Robert,  this  would 
not  have  happened." 

^  I  will  go  myself,"  she  meekly  answered,  "  and  see  if  I  can 
«?cnd  some  help  to  Tom.     I  am  not  afraid  to  go  alone." 

Away  hhe  ran,  for  the  sand  no  longer  obstructed  her  steps 


or   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  157 

in  the  by-path,  and  the  singing,  sounding  louder  and  louder, 
guided  her  way.  Soon  she  saw  a  torch-light  glimmering  through 
the  trees,  and  she  found  herself  near  a  large  corn-crib,  from 
which  the  choral  strains  were  issuing.  To  one  unaccustomed 
to  such  a  spectacle,  nothing  could  have  been  more  picturesque 
than  the  scene  that  presented  itself  to  Linda's  eye.  Large, 
pine  torches  were  flaring  near  the  door,  and  threw  their  red 
light  on  the  black  visages  of  about  forty  or  fifty  negroes,  sit- 
ting in  a  ring  round  an  immense  pile  of  corn,  on  which  was 
seated  the  sable  master  of  the  ceremonies,  who  was  tossing 
the  corn  down  to  the  group  below,  who  seized  it,  one  by  one, 
with  a  yell  of  delight,  and,  squaring  their  elbows  and  shrug- 
ging their  shoulders,  they  vied  with  each  other  in  stripping 
off  the  dry'  husks  from  the  golden  ears.  The  African  mo- 
narch of  this  harvest  festival,  as  he  threw  the  grain  into  the 
dexterous  hands  of  the  workmen,  rolled  out  a  volume  of  voice 
that  shook  the  pine-boards  of  the  crib,  and  every  negro  joined 
in  the  chorus  with  a  vehemence  and  glee,  a  physical  joy  and 
strength,  which  none  of  the  pale  race  can  imitate — 

"As  I  went  out  by  the  light  of  the  moon, 
Merrily  singing  this  old  tune, 
I  come  across  a  big  raccoon 
A  sotting  on  a  rail," 

shouted  the  Agrarian  king;    and  then  the  sable  orchestra 
chimed  bravely  in — 

"  A  sotting  on  a  rail,  a  sotting  on  a  rail — 
I  come  across  a  big  raccoon 
A  sotting  on  a  rail." 

Then,  as  the  spirit  of  melody  waxed  stronger,  the  maste 
would  vary  his  strains,  and — 

"As  I  went  down  to  Shinbone  alley, 
Long  time  ago. 
To  buy  a  bonnet  for  my  Sally, 
Long  time  ago," 


158  LINDA;    OR,  THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

echoed  through  the  wooJs,  in  one  full,  deafening  chorus,  dying 
away  only  to  be  repeated  with  more  Herculean  vigour.  There 
is  nothing  that  bears  the  name  of  music,  that  can  be  com- 
pared to  the  negro's  singing ;  he  sings  all  over ;  every 
muscle  quivers  with  melody;  it  gushes  from  every  pore. 
The  sounds  seem  to  roll  from  the  white  of  his  eyes,  as  well 
as  through  his  ivory  teeth.  His  shoulders,  elbows,  knees,  all 
appear  instinct  with  song.  He  winks,  he  grins,  stamps  with 
his  feet,  taps  with  his  heel,  pats  with  his  toes,  raps  with  hig 
knuckles — in  short,  gesticulates  in  every  possible  manner  the 
human  form  admits.  Oh  !  he  is  in  his  glory  at  a  CQjrn- 
shuckino;  ! 

It  was  long  before  the  sweet  voice  of  Linda  could  be  heard 
above  the  din.  It  was  not  till  she  stood  within  the  door,  like 
a  fair  spirit  of  light  stealing  on  their  darkness,  that  they 
checked  their  wild  notes  and  listened  to  her  accents.  They 
all  knew  the  young  mistress  of  Piuegrove ;  but  her  unexpected 
appearance  in  the  midst  of  their  revels,  looking  so  alabaster 
white  in  her  black  dress,  with  the  crimson  glare  of  their 
flambeaux  streaming  on  her  face,  struck  some  of  them  with 
superstitious  terror. 

"  It  is  a  spirit  I"  whispered  one,  rolling  his  eyes  slowly  over 
his  shoulder. 

"  Pshaw — it's  Miss  Lindy,"  cried  another  of  bolder  nerves, 
springing  up  and  coming  towards  her  through  heaps  of  shucks 
and  denuded  grain.  It  was  the  husband  of  Judy,  and  he 
worshipped  the  very  ground  on  which  her  young  mistress 
trod. 

"  Lord  bless  her  I"  said  he,  peering  at  her  from  under  his 
large  hand,  for  tne  blaze  dazzled  his  eyes ;  "  how  came  Miss 
Lindy  here  this  time  o'  night  ?  "Where  she  been  ? — where 
she  going  ? — what  for  she  all  alone  ?'' 

Linda  explained  their  situation  as  briefly  as  possible,  and 
was  immediately  escorted  back  by  several  of  the  stoutest  vas- 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  159 

Bals,  witli  Judy's  husband  at  their  head.  They  found  Tom  in 
real  and  unaffected  grief,  '■'■  sorrijwiug  over  the  expiring  horse/' 
and  Mrs.  Walton  bitterly  murmuring  at  a  misfortune  she  im- 
puted to  Linda's  obstinacy  and  rebellion.  Linda  beheld,  by 
the  torches  that  the  negroes  brought,  the  poor  creature 
stretched  in  his  last  agony,  and  the  tears  ran  down  her  cheeks. 
She  began  to  think  there  was  some  truth  in  her  step-mother's 
remark  that  she  was  a  Jonah,  who  brought  misfortune  in  her 
train,  and  conscientiously  assumed  the  loss  of  the  Belle  Cre- 
ole, as  well  as  the  two  noble  horses  sacrificed  in  her  cause. 
She  proposed,  as  the  only  alternative,  their  passing  the  night 
at  Mr.  Marshall's ;  but  this  Mrs.  Walton  positively  refused, 
as  she  was  determined  on  reaching  home  that  night.  Neither 
would  she  consent  to  borrowing  his  carriage  ;  she  did  not  like 
him,  and  would  not  be  indebted  to  him  for  the  slightest  favour : 
she  could  ride  home  on  the  remaining  horse )  Linda  could 
ride  behind  her,  and  they  could  thus  reach  home  very  conve- 
niently. Notwithstanding  her  fatigue  and  regret,  Linda  could 
not  help  smiling,  when,  mounted  behind  her  mother,  whose 
waist,  for  the  first  time,  her  shrinking  arm  surrounded,  with 
a  tall  negro  stalking  before,  waving  a  blazing  pine-knot  above 
his  head,  she  jogged  along,  with  a  blanket  for  a  saddle,  and 
Mrs.  Walton's  large  work-basket,  committed  to  her  care, 
swinging  from  her  left  arm.  She  had  taken  off  her  own  bon- 
net to  see  more  clearly  the  windings  of  the  way;  but  her 
step-mother's  long,  green  veil  kept  sweeping  before  her  eyes, 
and  twisting  its  folds  with  her  damp  ringlets.  It  was  the 
same  path  she  had  travelled  alone,  when  a  little  child,  to  in- 
tercede for  her  faithful  Judy.  She  looked  back  upon  the 
past,  and  remembered  that  God  had  been  merciful  to  hei ; 
she  accused  herself  of  ingratitude  and  distrust,  when  she 
thought  of  the  dangers  from  which  she  had  been  delivered— 
the  perils  she  had  escaped.  She  passed  the  old  log  school 
house,  and  thought  how  blessed  she  had  been  in  the  instruo 


IGO  LINDA  :    OR,    THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

tions  of  such  a  teacher  as  Aristides  Longwood — so  pure,  so 
uuworld-like,  and  so  wise.  Then,  memory,  wandering  among 
the  green  avenues  and  oaken  groves  of  Rose  Bower,  recalled 
the  lessons  of  love  there  instilled  into  her  young  heart,  and 
she  lifted  it  up  in  gratitude  to  Heaven.  She  lingered  in  fancy 
by  the  early  grave  of  the  gentle  Luta,  and  wondered  why 
God  had  spared  her  life,  when  he  had  taken  away  one  so 
Bweet  and  lovely.  She  went  back  still  farther  into  the  twi- 
light of  the  past,  and  dwelt  on  her  wayward,  exacting  child- 
hood, when  left  to  her  own  wild  will,  before  an  arbitrary  step- 
mother had  ruled  her  with  an  iron  rod. 

"  It  is  all  right — it  is  just,''  thought  she,  looking  upward 
through  the  shadows  of  night.  ''  I  have  murmured  and  re- 
pined when  I  ought  to  be  glowing  with  gratitude  and  love  to 
the  Being  who  has  strewed  my  path  with  blessings,  even  as 
he  has  sown  yon  heavens  with  stars.  I  will  no  longer  struggle 
madly  with  my  destiny.  I  will  commit  myself  into  his  guar- 
dian hands,  praying  only  to  be  guided  by  his  Spirit  and  governed 
by  his  will.  If  he  has  reserved  for  me  such  a  blissful  lot  as  to 
be  the  wife  of  Roland ;  if  I  am  permitted  to  walk  hand  in  hand 
with  him  through  life,  and  mingle  my  soul  with  his  in  death, 
my  heart  shall  be  a  living  holocaust,  where  gratitude  shall  burn 
with  everlasting  incense.  But,  if  he  has  otherwise  ordained,  let 
me  be  able  to  say, '  Father,  not  my  will,  but  thine  be  done.' '' 

With  holy  aspirations  like  these,  the  young  heiress  pursued 
her  way,  and,  when  she  reached  the  old  family  gate,  she  could 
think  with  calmness  of  meeting  Robert,  though  a  few  hours 
back  the  anticipation  had  filled  her  with  fear  and  trembling. 

"  Hallo,  hallo,  Massa  I"  called  out  the  torch-bearer,  for  the 
gate  was  locked  and  Bruno  set  up  a  magnificent  growl.  A 
tall  figure  darkened  the  doorway. 

*'  Robert,  Robert !  don't  come  out  in  the  night  air  \"  cried 
his  mother,  but  it  was  too  late,  he  wasalrcady  at  the  gates;  and 
when  Linda  sprang  from  the  horse,  he  caught  her  in  his  arma 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  IGl 

ere  slie  reached  the  earth.  She  felt  the  tumultuous  beatings 
of  his  heart,  and  her  own  began  again  to  tremble  with  agi- 
tation. 

^^  You  are  better,  Robert.  You  are  well/^  she  cried,  look- 
ing anxiously  at  his  pale  cheeks. 

"  Yes,  perfectly  well, — now  you  have  come.  But  where's 
the  carriage  ?  What  has  happened  ?  Mother,  what  does  this 
mean  ?" 

^'  You  are  very  polite  to  let  me  get  down  by  the  block,'* 
said  Mrs.  Walton,  stepping  carefully  to  the  ground,  then 
eagerly  seizing  her  son's  hand  and  drawing  him  towards  the 
house.  "  Make  haste  and  come  in.  Don't  stay  in  the  damp- 
ness." 

"I'm  not  sick,  mother,"  said  he,  laughing  and  following 
her ;  but  Linda  felt  the  hand  which  still  held  hers,  glowing 
with  feverish  heat,  and  when  they  stood  together  in  the  light 
of  the  room,  she  thought  he  looked  thinner  than  when  they 
parted.  His  countenance  seemed  softened.  His  long,  black 
lashes  cast  a  drooping  shade  over  his  eyes,  and  tempered  their 
insufferable  brilliancy.  Linda,  anxious  to  divert  his  mind 
from  dwelling  on  their  last  meeting,  gave  an  amusing  descrip- 
tion of  their  adventures,  while  she  twisted  her  fingers  in  her 
shining  hair,  to  restore  its  disordered  ringlets. 

"  I  don't  think  it's  any  thing  to  laugh  at,"  cried  Mrs.  Wal- 
ton, holding  out  her  new  crape  bonnet,  and  exhibiting  several 
sinking  places  in  the  pasteboard,  from  which  the  stiffening  had 
departed.  "  I  have  lost  my  best  horse,  spoiled  my  new  bon- 
net, and  I  have,  no  doubt,  ruined  my  dress,  riding  on  Tom's 
dirty  blanket." 

Linda  looked  round  the  familiar  room,  and  the  smile  forsook 
her  lips.  Her  eye  rested  on  her  father's  vacant  arm-chair, 
and,  weeping,  she  remembered  her  dead. 

"  I  never  saw  such  a  girl,"  said  Mrs.  Walton ;  "  laughing 
one  moment,  and  crying  the  next."    She  thought  it  best,  how- 

14* 


162  LINDA;    OR,    THE    YOUNG    PILOT 

ever,  not  to  accuse  her  before  Robert  of  the  death  of  th^* 
horse,  suspectiug  she  would  find  a  champion  in  him. 

And  how  did  Linda  feel,  domesticated  once  more  in  her  own 
native  home — that  home  she  had  so  much  dreaded  to  see  ? 
Ah  !  she  felt  that  it  was  home  still, — the  spot  where  she  had 
first  known  life's  mysterious  vitality,  childhood's  wild  exult- 
ance, — the  place  where  a  mother's  smile  had  beamed,  a' mother's 
prayer  ascended,  a  mother's  grave  was  made, — a  father's  arms 
had  caressed.  It  was  still  the  focus  of  her  most  vivid  associa- 
tions, and  though  some  of  the  rays  were  dim  and  darkened, 
they  converged  to  their  centre,  obedient  to  nature's  immutable 
laws.  It  was  pleasant  to  feel  the  same  breeze  that  had  rocked 
the  young  birds  of  her  native  trees  in  their  nests,  fanning  her 
cheek ;  to  hear  the  boughs  whispering  lovingly  in  her  ear  as 
the  wind  glided  through  them,  as  they  had  done  years  ago ;  to 
be  greeted  on  every  side  by  glad,  gleeful  smiles,  on  the  shin- 
ing faces  of  her  own  negroes,  and  be  patted  again,  as  she 
crossed  the  threshold,  by  the  large,  velvet  paws  of  their 
household  guardian. 

What  a  change  did  her  return  cause  in  the  aspect  of  Pine 
Grove  !  There  was  beauty  and  gentleness,  and  light  and 
music,  where  there  had  been  gloom  and  silence  and  darkness. 
The  apartments  were  once  more  redolent  with  flowers ;  the 
keys  of  the  piano,  resounding  to  the  light  touch  of  youthful 
fingers,  responded  to  the  sweet  voice  that  warbled  over  them, 
and  the  birds,  attracted  by  congenial  strains,  perched  on  the 
branches  that  shaded  the  windows,  and  joined  in  the  chorus. 
The  slaves,  rejoicing  in  the  beams  of  that  lovely  countenance — 
never  turned  towards  them  save  in  kindness  and  good-will — 
went  cheerily  to  their  daily  tasks,  vyii^  with  eaph  other  in 
administering  to  her  wants.  And  what  did  Robert  do  ?  lie 
lived,  breathed  but  in  her  presence;  sat  by  her  when  she 
played  and  sang ;  read  to  her  when  she  sewed ;  walked  with 
her  when  she  walked  ;  in  short,  was  her  shadow,  wherever  she 


OP   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  163 

went.  He  seemed  indeed  the  shadow  of  himself,  so  different 
was  he  from  the  fierce,  imperious  being  she  had  so  much 
feared.  She  began  to  think  he  had  learned  to  love  her  as  a 
brother,  and  her  heart  went  forth  to  meet  him  with  reviving 
confidence.  Mrs.  Walton,  too,  engrossed  with  her  domestic 
afikirs,  left  her  unmolested;  appearing  perfectly  satisfied,  as 
she  saw  her  with  Robert,  whose  complexion  gradually  assumed 
a  ruddier  hue. 

Thus  several  weeks  glided  by,  leaving  brightening  roses  on 
Linda's  cheek  and  scattering  down  on  her  heart,  when  a  letter 
from  Emily  made  her  utter  an  exclamation  of  joy.  She 
hastily  broke  the  seal,  when  another  letter  enclosed  fell  into 
her  lap.  Her  heart  told  her  whence  it  came,  and  burning 
blushes  covered  her  face.  The  eyes  of  Robert  were  upon  her — 
those  unfathomable  eyes,  and  she  felt  as  if  her  secret  was  re- 
vealed. Before  she  had  time  to  take  it  in  her  hand,  he  had 
caught  it  and  gazed  steadily  on  the  superscription.  A  cloud, 
dark  as  night,  gathered  over  his  countenance. 

"This  is  a  bold,  free  hand,''  said  he  with  bitterness;  "traced, 
no  doubt,  by  one  who  is  more  accustomed  to  grasp  the  oar 
than  guide  the  pen." 

"  It  is  doubtless  from  Mr.  Carleton,"  she  was  tempted  to 
say,  but  the  words  died  unuttered  on  her  truthful  lips.  She 
had  seen  Roland's  fine,  vigorous  handwriting,  and  recognised 
it  at  the  first  glance.  Her  hand  trembled — her  bosom  panted. 
She  longed  to  fly  to  some  lone  corner,  where  she  could  peruse 
it  unseen.  She  dreaded  the  storm  lowering  on  Robert's  dark- 
ening brow.  Sunshine  on  one  side,  shadow  on  the  other;  she 
stood  irresolute,  palpitating  with  mingled  joy  and  fear. 

"You  are  not  candid,  Linda;  you  are  not  true,"  cried 
Robert,  in  a  husky  voice.  "  You  have  been  trifling  with  feel- 
ings you  can  never  fathom." 

"  You  are  unjust  and  ungentleman-like,  Robert,"  said  she, 
moving  to  the  door,  her  spirit  roused,  as  it  always  was  when 


164  LINDA;    OR,  THE   YOUNG  PILOT 

falsely  accused.  ^^  I  am  not  accountable  to  you  for  my  corre- 
spondence, and  I  assure  you  I  have  established  no  clandes- 
tine one." 

When  she  had  left  him,  and  recalled  his  dark,  suffering 
countenance,  she  reproached  herself  for  wounding  a  heart, 
with  all  its  faults,  only  too  devotedly  her  own.  But  Roland's 
letter  was  in  her  hand,  and  when,  in  the  solitude  of  her  cham- 
ber, her  lightning  glances  flashed  over  the  lines,  then  returned, 
and  again  retraced  them  with  lingering  tenderness, — she  forgot 
Robert,  her  step-mother,  every  thing  but  him,  with  whose 
spirit  her  own  mingled  in  every  impassioned  word.  Roland 
wrote  with  a  pen  of  fire,  in  language  as  free  and  fluent  as  the 
waves  on  which  his  bark  was  borne. 

Young  maiden,  plighted  bride,  or  wedded  wife !  Do  you 
remember  when  the  first  letter,  from  him  enshrined  in  your 
heart  of  hearts,  met  your  gaze  ?  Perhaps  you  sat  in  the  soft 
shadow  of  muslin  curtains  as  Linda  did,  and  pressed  the  snowy 
folds  against  your  crimson  cheek,  or  mantled  them  over  your 
quickened  heart.  Or  perchance  you  were  alone  with  nature, 
"  that  sacred  bride  of  heaven,  worthy  of  the  passion  of  a 
god,"  and  drank  in  her  sacred  influences  with  the  love  foun- 
tain that  flowed  in  rushing  streams  through  the  virgin  chan- 
nels of  your  heart.  Oh,  beautiful  as  the  first  rose  of.  spring, 
the  first  star  of  evening,  the  first  golden  tint  of  the  dawn,  is 
the  first  written  memorial  from  the  being  one  loves  ! 

Roland  spoke  with  confidence  of  the  future.  He  saw  it  in 
the  light  of  his  own  bright,  bold  spirit,  and  it  spread  it  like  the 
map  of  a  new,  luxuriant  country ;  sunbeams  lingering  on  the 
hill-tops,  peace  resting  on  the  valleys,  and  freedom  sporting 
on  the  blue,  flowing  streams.  His  soul  expanded  in  the  grander 
scenery  by  which  he  was  suiToundcd.  With  the  majestic 
Mississippi  rolling  beneath,  the  heavens  themselves  seemed  to 
bend  over  him  with  a  broader,  more  magnificent  arch,  and  the 
wind  unfurled  its  pinions  with  a  stronger,  ampler  sweep.    Ho 


OP  THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  165 

spoke  with  confidence  of  her  love.  Having  once  been  assured 
of  it  from  her  own  lips,  he  believed  in  it  as  fully  and  firmly 
as  the  truth  of  God.  No  doubts  or  suspicions  sullied  his 
faith  or  wounded  her  fidelity.  It  was  the  polar  star  of  his 
life,  shining  with  pure,  unchanging  lustre,  to  which  his  heart 
would  turn  with  magnetic  sympathy,  even  to  its  last  vibra- 
tion. 

"  Missus  want  to  know  if  Miss  Linda  ever  coming  to  din- 
ner/' said  Nelly,  putting  her  broad  face  in  at  the  door. 

Linda  started, — she  had  forgotten  the  flight  of  time,  and 
hastily  putting  away  her  letters,  she  followed  Nelly,  with  ill- 
concealed  trepidation,  into  the  dining-room.  Robert  was  not 
there,  but  she  was  introduced  to  a  stranger  by  the  name  of 
McCleod,  a  gentleman  of  Scotch  descent,  who  occupied  the 
place  of  Aristides  in  the  log  school-house,  and  had  come  to 
board  a  while  in  Mrs.  Walton's  family.  Feeling  the  absence  of 
Bobert  an  unspeakable  relief,  she  welcomed  the  singular-vis- 
aged  stranger  with  an  involuntary  smile,  which  was  returned 
with  usury. 

Mr.  McCleod  was  considerably  past  the  heyday  of  youth, 
but  he  had  that  evergreen  appearance  which  made  it  exceed- 
ingly doubtful  what  his  age  might  be.  He  had  a  wide,  irre- 
gular mouth,  with  very  white,  uneven  teeth,  which  he  displayed 
liberally  when  he  laughed — not  only  the  teeth,  but  the  gums, 
which  were  of  an  unusually  vivid  red.  His  hair,  too,  was  of 
a  deep,  unadulterated  red,  coarse  and  frizzled ;  standing  in  re- 
bellious tufts,  thick  as  peonies,  all  over  his  head.  There  was 
a  slight  obliquity  in  his  small,  black  eyes,  that  gave  his  coun- 
tenance an  expression  of  extreme  cunning  and  shrewdness,  a 
quaint,  old-fashioned,  twinkling  look,  that  harmonized  admi- 
rably with  the  brogue  of  his  glib-rolling  tongue.  Ugly,  sen- 
sible, comical,  strange,  were  the  epithets  suggested  to  Lind;t, 
by  the  appearance  of  the  Scotch  schoolmaster.  She  could 
not  help  smiling  every  time  she  met  the  odd  twinkle  of  his 


166  LINDA;    OR,  THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

eye,  which  was  rather  frequent,  for  he  seemed  to  find  her,  as 
Aristides  did,  a  "  beautiful  study,'' — laying  down  his  knife 
and  fork,  and  rubbing  his  hands  energetically,  while  he  gazed 
upon  her. 

*  A  very  nice  young  lady,  very  nice  indeed,"  said  he,  con- 
tinuing the  friction  of  his  broad  palms.  *^Done  with  school,  I 
suppose.  Learning  housewifery  from  her  excellent  mother, 
the  best  part  of  education.  Excellent  pudding,  this,  Mrs. 
"Walton — excellent.  I  dare  say  the  young  lady's  delicate  fin- 
gers assisted  in  forming  this  delightful  union  of  the  acid  and 
sweet.  Not  at  all  strange,  that  the  sweet  should  preponde- 
rate, not  at  all — he !  he  !" 

He  had  a  way  of  repeating  his  words  at  the  end  of  each  sen- 
tence, and  at  the  close  a  kind  of  inward  chuckle  expressed 
his  own  approbation  of  his  remarks. 

"  I  cannot  pride  myself  much  on  my  culinary  accomplish- 
ments," rei^lied  Linda,  "  though  I  intend  to  be  an  assiduous 
pupil  in  that  department." 

"  That's  right,"  said  Mr.  McCleod,  approvingly.  "  The 
art  of  cookery  has  degenerated  in  modern  times.  The  Romans 
excelled  in  this  divine  science,  and  some  of  their  most  elegant 
scholars  were  the  most  accomplished  gastronomists.  My 
friend  Mrs.  Walton  excels  most  ladies  in  this  neglected  branch 
of  female  education.  She  understands  the  exact  proportions 
of  things,  she  does — the  art  of  composition,  and  I  think  I  ex- 
cel in  that  of  decomposition.     I  think  I  do.     Ha  !  ha  !" 

It  was  very  evident  that  the  Scotchman  was  a  favourite  with 
Mrs.  "Walton,  a  very  rare  thing.  Perhaps  it  was  because  he 
treated  her  with  unusual  deference,  praised  her  household 
virtues  and  accomplishments,  had  an  ecstatic  way  of  listening 
when  she  spoke,  always  jumped  to  the  door,  and  held  it  as  she 
passed  through,  and,  above  all,  never  contradicted  her.  It  is 
true  he  exhibited  these  courtesies  in  a  still  more  enthusiastic 
manner  t?  Linda,  but  she  had  been  the  first  object  of  these 


OF   THE  BELLE   CREOLE.  167 

respectful  attentions,  and  the  first  impression,  usually  so  in- 
delible, was  made. 

Linda  rejoiced  in  tliis  addition  to  the  family  trio,  as  it  would 
break  in  on  those  too  close-knitting  tete-d-tetes  with  Robert, 
which  she  tried  in  vain  to  avoid.  She  expected,  too,  to  derive 
great  amusement  from  his  oddities,  as  well  as  instruction  from 

his  classic  lore. 

Supper  passed,  and  still  Robert  came  not.  Mrs.  Walton 
grew  anxious  and  restless.  He  had  gone  out  hunting,  and  she 
could  not  account  for  his  long  stay.  Some  accident  must  have 
happened.  He  would  take  cold,  get  sick,  a  thousand  misfor- 
tunes might  occur.  In  vain  the  Scotchman  praised  her  rolls, 
*'  uncommonly  nice  rolls ;"  her  muffins,  "  unspeakably  light 
muffins.''  She  heeded  not :  for  one  single  chord,  that  vibrated 
to  the  touch  of  feeling,  was  awake.  At  length  he  returned, 
looking  gloomy  and  weary,  refused  to  eat  any  supper,  and 
passed  almost  immediately  to  his  own  room. 

"  What  can  be  the  matter  with  Robert  ?"  said  his  mother, 
casting  a  sinister  glance  at  Linda.  <'  He  appeared  well  and  in 
good  spirits  this  morning." 

Linda  made  no  answer  to  this  indirect  question,  but  her 
heightened  colour  and  downcast  eye  were  Act  unnoticed  by 
Mrs.  Walton. 

<<Your  son  has  a  variable  temperament,"  remarked  Mr, 
McCleod.  "The  accompaniment  of  genius,  madam.  Look 
at  his  eye.  Too  bright  not  to  be  clouded  sometimes ;  entirely 
too  bright.  Now  I  am  not  subject  to  these  changes  in  the 
least.  Observe  my  eyes — neither  too  bright  nor  too  dim. 
Just  the  right  medium,  is  it  not  so,  young  lady,  the  right 
medium?     Ha!  ha!" 

He  turned  his  eyes  with  such  an  irresistibly  ludicrous 
squint  that  Linda  laughed  outright,  and  Mrs.  Walton  was 
obliged  to  forgive  his  want  of  sympathy,  in  consequence  of 
his  admiration  for  her  son's  genius  and  brilliant  eyes.     She 


r* 


168  LTXDA ;    OR,  THE  YOUNG   PILOT 

followed  her  son  to  his  room,  but  found  his  door  looked. 
"  Robert,  what  is  the  matter  ?     Open  the  door  and  toll  me." 

Robert  opened  the  door,  but  held  it  so  that  his  mother  could 

QOt  enter.     *'  I  wish  you  would  not  disturb  me,  mother.     I 

am  not  sick.     I  only  wish  to  be  alone.     I  am  not  a  baby  or- 

child,  that  I  must  be  called  to  account  if  I  choose  to  go  to 

bed  without  a  supper." 

"  But  tell  me,  Robert,  if  that  girl,  Linda,  isnH  at  the  bot- 
tom of  this  ?  If  she  is,  I'll  not  yield  to  your  desire  for  delay 
any  longer.     I'll  bring  matters  to  a  crisis  at  once." 

"Let  me  be,  to-night,  if  you  would  not  drive  me  to  distrac- 
tion," exclaimed  Robert,  impatiently,  "  and  for  heaven's  sake 
let  Linda  rest.  Leave  this  matter  to  ourselves,  whatever  it 
may  be.  You  cannot  remedy  it."  Shutting  the  door  and 
again  locking  it,  he  thus  effectually  precluded  all  fui'ther  con- 
versation, and  Mrs.  Walton  retired  to  her  own  room,  to  me- 
ditate on  her  future  plans. 

Linda  felt  very  unhappy  at  the  change  in  Robert,  for  it 
convinced  her  that  his  passions  existed  in  all  their  strength, 
and  while  she  dreamed  they  had  gradually  died,  they  were 
only  in  a  state  of  quiescence,  perhaps  acquiring  new  power 
from  their  transient  repose.  Her  own  conscience  was  not 
free  from  reproach.  Had  she  been  indeed  true  to  the  promise 
given  ?  Was  she  not  bound  heart  and  soul  to  another,  though 
plighted  by  no  betrothal  vow  ?  Was  she  acting  openly  and 
uprightly,  in  concealing  from  him  that  she  had  given  her  hap- 
piness into  the  keeping  of  another  ?  No,  she  would  tell  him 
all.  She  would  throw  herself  upon  his  generosity,  and  appeal 
to  him  to  shield  her  from  his  mother's  persecutions. 

To  resolve,  with  one  of  her  ardent  and  impulsive  nature,  was 
to  act.  Instead  of  avoiding  him,  she  lingered  near  his  side, 
and  sought  tlie  renewal  of  that  gentle  intercourse  which  had 
been  like  bulin  to  her  harassed  spirits,  for  the  several  past 
ireeks.     She  could  not  help  trembling    however,  when  tho 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE. 


1G9 


propitious  moment  arrived;  for  the  happiness  or  misery  of 
her  future  life  depended  on  the  result  of  this  interview.  If 
he  were  magnanimous  enough  to  relinquish  his  claims  as  a 
lover,  and  stand  between  her  and  an  exasperated  mother,— 
instead  of  uniting  with  her  in  a  pursuit  so  harrowing  and  in- 
effectual,—there  might  yet  be  joy  in  store  for  her. 

"  Are  we  now  no  longer  friends,  Robert  ?"  said  she,  run- 
ning  her  fingers  softly  over  the  keys  of  the  piano,  by  which 
she  was  seated. 

"  It  is  for  yourself  to  decide,  Linda,^'  he  replied  gloomily. 
« I  have  borne  from  you  coldness,  dislike,  disdain,  but  I  can 
not  bear  deceit." 

"  Listen,  Robert,  while  I  lay  bare  my  whole  heart.  I  will 
be  sincere,  and  then,  though  you  may  withdraw  your  friend^ 
ship,  you  cannot  withhold  your  esteem.' ' 

"  Stop  one  moment,"  said  he,  snatching  her  hand,  and  fix- 
ing  on  her  a  glance  penetrating  as  steel.  "I  fear  I  cannot 
bear  it.  Don't  tell  me  you  love  another.  I  fear  it.  I  dread 
it,  but  I  don't  knoio  it  yet.  Let  me  still  doubt,  still  hope, 
but  do  not  drive  me  to  despair." 

^^  Alas  !  I  feared  this  violence,  and  yet  your  late  gentleness 
and  calmness  encouraged  me  to  believe  you  were  changed." 

"  I  have  been  trying  to  subdue  my  fierce  nature ;  and  when 
you  smile  kindly  on  me,  Linda,  the  tiger  is  really  transformed 
into  the  lamb.  You  might  lead  me  through  life  with  one 
silken  hair.  I  thought  you  were  -softening,  pitying,  almost 
loving.  I  thought— but  that  letter— yes !  tell  me  all,  any 
thing  is  better  than  suspense.  Despair  itself  is  better  than 
the  agony  of  doubt  and  fear.     Speak,  and   see  how  calmly  I 

will  listen." 

"  Calmly,"  thought  Linda,  observing  tho  hectic  spot  that 
burned  on  his  cheeks,  and  the  trembling  hand  on  which  his 
forehead  leaned.  She  dreaded  the  consequences  of  her 
avow  al,  remembering  the  fearful  scene  she  had  witnessed  at 


170  LINDA;    OR,    THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

Mobile,  but  \e  urged  her  with  such  vehemence  to  proceed,  to 
tell  him  every  thing,  without  any  concealment  or  reservation, 
that  she  at  length  began,  and  told  him  all.  But  while  she 
declared  the  strength  of  her  love,  she  told  him  at  the  same  tim, 
of  her  solemn  determination  never  to  marry  with  the  convic- 
tion that  his  happiness  would  be  sacrificed  by  the  act.  She 
paused  breathless  from  agitation,  gazing  on  the  face  of  her 
auditor.  He  moved  not  during  her  recital,  only  his  head 
drooped  lower  on  his  hand,  and  the  flush  on  his  cheek  spread 
over  his  brow  and  temples. 

"  Speak,  Robert,  and  tell  me  you  forgive  the  anguish  I  have 
unwittingly  made  you  suffer.  Could  I  have  commanded  my 
affections,  they  should  have  been  yours.'' 

"And  mine  they  shall  yet  be,  by  heaven  V  he  exclaimed, 
Btiirting  up,  his  flushed  cheek  changing  to  a  livid  hue.  "  I 
might  yield  you  to  an  equal,  but  never  shall  it  be  said  that  a 
low  pilot  has  triumphed  over  me.  What  business  has  he,  from 
the  mere  accident  of  preserving  your  life,  to  presume  upon 
your  love  ?  A  Newfoundland  dog  would  have  done  as  much ; 
and  you — I  cannot  believe  such  infatuation — you  are  mocking 
me ;  you  dare  not  tell  me  a  second  time  that  you  reject  Ro- 
bert Graham" — here  he  raised  himself  proudly  to  his  full, 
stately  height — "  for  that  pitiful  scoundrel,  Roland  Lee." 

The  fire  literally  blazed  from  his  eyes.  He  ground  his 
heel  in  the  dust.  Linda  yvas  terrified,  and  fled  towards  the 
door  as  from  a  lion  springing  from  his  lair ;  but,  pursuing  her, 
and  seizing  both  hands,  he  forced  her  to  remain. 
**  ^'  You  shall  not  leave  me  !"  he  cried  ;  "  you  have  made  me 
a  madman,  and  you  shall  listen  to  my  ravings.  How  could 
you  sit  down  in  cold  blood  and  tell  me  that  tale  ?  Why  did 
you  not  deceive  me  a  little  longer  ?  It  is  true,  I  accused  you 
of  this ;  but  I  believed  it  as  little  as  that  the  azure  of  heaven 
would  mingle  witu  the  mire  it  shines  upon.  Fool  that  I  am, 
"jO  rcjiist  my  mother  as  I  have  done !     I  would  not  let  her 


OF  THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  I'i  1 

force  you.  I  wanted  to  win  your  love  and  gratitude  by  gen- 
tleness and  fond,  tender  cares.  I  would  not  enter  into  her 
violent  measures  ;  but  it  is  all  over  now.  Linda,  you  sball  be 
mine,  as  sure  as  there  is  a  God  above — ^mine,  if  you  will,  in 
peace — but  still  for  ever  mine.'^ 

"  In  that  God  whom  you  blasphemously  invoke  I  put  my 
trust,''  replied  Linda,  looking  upward,  with  heavenly  calmness. 

The  frenzy  of  his  passion  now  beat  against  her  in  vain.  The 
name  of  God,  so  boldly  uttered,  had  the  effect  of  a  miracle. 
It  was  as  if  she  had  heard  that  divine  voice  which  fell  like 
oil  upon  the  troubled  waves,  add  smoothed  them  into  rest. 
She  struggled  no  more ;  she  attempted  not  to  release  her 
hands,  though  his  grasp  felt  like  burning  iron  on  her  wrists. 

^^  Go,''  said  he,  gradually  relaxing  his  desperate  hold ;  ^'  go 
and  triumph  in  my  agonies.  Laugh,  when  you  think  of  the 
madman's  antics,  and  thank  heaven  that  your  veins  are  filled 
with  ice,  instead  of  molten  lead.'' 

"  Oh  !  Kobert,  I  dare  not  leave  you  in  this  terrible  mood. 
Do  not  give  way  to  such  maddening  passions." 

^^  Did  I  make  myself?"  cried  he,  fiercely.  "  Did  I  pour  this 
boiling  fluid  in  my  heart,  and  bid  it  x'ush,  as  it  now  does,  in 
burning  torrents  to  my  brain  ?  Away  ! — you  might  as  well 
tell  the  billows  not  to  rise  when  the  winds  lash  them  to 
foam." 

^'  I  would  willingly  die  to  give  you  peace,  Robert." 

^'  Leave  me,  then  3  I  must  be  alone." 

As  Linda  softly  closed  the  door,  after  bending  on  him  one 

more  tearful,  pitying  glance,  he  staggered  back  into  a  chair 

and   covered   his   face  with  his  handkerchief.      The   blood 

gushed  from  his  nose  and  mouth,  and  for  a  few  moments  ha 

sunk  in  partial  insensibility.     Still  he  was  conscious  of  his 

situation ;  and,  as  soon  as  the  mist  melted  from  his  sight,  he 

rose  and  supported  himself  against  the  back  of  a  chair. 

"It  is  a  trifle/'  said  he;  but  his  voice  sounded  faint  an-J 
11 


172  LINDA;    OR;    THE   YOUXG   PILOT 

hollow.  '^It  will  save  mc  a  doctor's  fee  for  blood-let- 
ring/' 

Then  slowly  approaching  the  fire,  for  the  late  autumnal 
winds  were  blowing  and  the  cheering  blaze  illumined 
the  chimney,  he  threw  in  the  bloody  handkerchief,  and 
took  up  another  which  lay  upon  the  table.  It  was  Linda's. 
A  faint,  exquisite  perfume  breathed  from  it,  as  he  held  it  to  his 
lips.     He  looked  at  it — no  stain  of  blood  was  left.~* 

*'  It  would  be  a  shame,"  he  murmured,  ^'  to  soil  this  delicate 
tissue  with  such  dark  fluid.  I'll  wear  it  in  my  bosom,  and 
see  if  it  will  ease  its  aching  throbs." 

With  a  deep  sigh,  he  took  up  his  lamp,  passed  into  the 
dining-room,  approached  the  sideboard,  and,  diluting  a  quan- 
tity of  salt  with  water,  eagerly  swallowed  it. 

^'  My  mother  will  never  know  of  this,"  repeated  he,  as  he 
sought  his  chamber  and  threw  himself,  undressed,  upon  his 
bed.  ^'  She  would  plague  me  to  death  about  the  night-air. 
P.shaw  !  I  am  glad  I  have  safety-valves  in  my  veins  to  let  off 
some  of  my  superfluous  blood." 

With  feverish  pulse  and  throbbing  temples,  this  victim  of 
early-indulged  and  undisciplined  passions  tossed  on  his  rest- 
less couch  during  the  silent  watches  of  the  night.  Love, 
hatred,  revenge,  and  jealousy,  fused  in  the  burning  forge  of 
his  heart,  and  mingling  in  hideous  compound,  assumed  the 
wildest  and  most  appalling  forms.  He  had  been  dreaming 
that  Linda  was,  leaf  by  leaf  and  flower  by  flower,  slowly  but 
surely  twining  her  affections  round  him,  from  the  time  he  had 
parted  from  her  at  Mrs.  Carleton's  to  the  moment  when  the 
thunderbolt  of  truth  awakened  him,  scorching  and  withering 
the  garland  his  own  fancy  had  woven. 

Every  one  at  the  breakfast  table  was  struck  by  his  pale  and 
Laggard  countenance.  Linda,  who  knew  not  the  physical  suf- 
fering he  had  endured,  and  imputed  it  entirely  to  mental  an- 
guish, felt  j;oo  wretched  to  eat  or  speak,  though  3Ir.  M'Cleod 


OF   THE  BELLE   CREOLE.  173 

obsequiously  urged  her  to  do  both.  Indeed,  he  seemed  the 
only  one  disposed  to  do  justice  to  "  Mrs.  Walton's  very  ex- 
cellent breakfast/'  and  generously  exerted  himself  to  make  up 
for  the  deficiencies  of  others. 

"  I  feel  sorry  for  that  young  man/'  said  he  to  Linda,  the 
first  time  he  met  her  alone.  ^^I  know  well  where  his  disease 
is  seated.  Ah !  young  lady,  I  see  you  are  a  dangerous  person 
— very  dangerous  person.  If  I  were  young,  I  would  not  like 
to  run  the  risk  myself.  You  must  not  be  angry  with  me,  for 
I  am  a  plain,  blunt  man — I  am.  If  you  cannot  love  him, 
you  ought  not  to  be  in  the  same  house  with  him.  Why,  it  is 
killing  him  by  inches.  It  seems  very  foolish  in  an  old  bache- 
lor to  give  advice  on  such  a  subject — very  foolish  indeed ;  but 
the  bystander  always  sees  better  than  the  actors — he  does ; 
ha,  ha  r 

It  was  strange,  and  Linda  could  not  account  for  it;  but 
there  was  something  about  this  man  that  inspired  confidence 
and  disarmed  displeasure.  She  felt  the  truth  of  his  remarks, 
and  involuntarily  exclaimed — 

^'  Oh  !  that  I  indeed  had  another  home  than  this  V 

"  There  is  one  piece  of  advice,  young  lady,  permit  me  to 
give.  You  are  very  young  and  inexperienced,  and  I  presume 
know  little  about  matters  of  business.  You  will  be  sum- 
moned into  court  to  choose  a  guardian,  your  father  being  de- 
ceased. Mrs.  Walton,  your  excellent  step-mother,  will  tell 
you  to  fix  your  choice  on  her — she  will ',  but,  though  I  have 
the  highest  regard  for  the  lady,  I  think  it  will  be  much  more 
judicious  in  you  to  select  a  male  friend.  Ladies  are  not  al- 
ways as  clear-headed  as  gentlemen,  you  know — not  always  a3 
clear-headed — ha,  ha  !  Besides,''  continued  he,  ^'  if  you 
should  wish  to  command  any  of  your  property  before  you  be- 
came of  age,  Mrs.  Walton  might  not  think  it  proper  to  allow 
it ;  very  prudent  lady  Mrs.  Walton  is — very  prudent,  indeed.  ' 

Linda,  who,  indeed,  knew  nothing  about  the  forms  of  busi- 


174  LINDA;    OR;  THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

uess,  and  would  have  blindl}'  followed  Mrs.  "Walton's  direc- 
tions, had  it  not  been  for  the  hint  of  the  shrewd  Scotchman  ; 
thanked  him  for  his  counsel,  and  decided  in  her  own  mind 
that  she  would  choose  Mr.  Marshall,  her  father's  best  friend. 

Mrs.  Walton  invited  her  to  ride  with  her,  as  if  pleasure 
was  her  sole  object,  and  it  was  not  till  they  were  within  a 
short  distance  from  the  court-house^  that  she  explained  the 
motive  that  brought  her. 

"  It  is  proper  that  you  should  choose  a  guardian,"  said  she. 
"  I  brought  you  merely  for  form's  sake,  as  I  intend  to  assume 
the  responsibility  myself.  All  you  will  have  to  do  is  to  sig- 
nify your  choice.  Of  course,  every  one  knows  that  I  am  your 
natural  guardian,  and  the  law  only  gives  new  sanction  to  my 
authority." 

Linda  made  no  reply.  To  dispute  this  authority  would 
only  expose  her  to  a  scene  of  violence,  and  she  did  not 
wish  to  appear  in  the  presence  of  strangers  disturbed  and 
excited. 

The  entrance  of  a  young  and  beautiful  girl, — the  reputed 
heiress  of  a  large  fortune  and  the  destined  bride  of  her  step- 
brother, for  Mrs.  Walton  had  circulated  this  report  far  and 
wide,  was  not  likely  to  pass  unnoticed.  At  first  she  was  pale 
from  trepidation,  but  the  eager  glances  directed  towards  her 
from  every  side  brought  the  vanishing  roses  back  to  hei 
cheeks,  with  added  bloom.  She  looked,  indeed,  by  the  side  of 
her  step-mother,  like  a  sweet  rose-bud  springing  up  by  a 
seeded  dandelion.  Among  the  many  strange  faces  around  her, 
she  recognised  the  friendly  countenance  of  Mr.  Marshall,  and 
it  reassured  her.  When  the  judge,  with  great  urbanity  of 
manner,  addressed  to  her  the  usual  questions,  and  with  mo- 
dest firmness  she  pronounced  the  name  of  Mr.  Marshall,  her 
•itcp-mother  uttered  an  involuntary  exclamation,  and  gave  her 
a  witliering  glance. 

*'  Allow  her  to  correct  herself,  sir,"  said  she,  hastily ;  "  sho 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  175 

is  embarrassed,  and  knows  not  what  she  says."  Then  actclress- 
ing  Linda  in  a  low  voice,  *'  Recall  that,  on  your  peril." 

"  The  young  lady  has  the  privilege  of  choosing  for  her- 
self, if  she  is  past  foiu'teen,"  said  the  judge,  mildly,  but  de- 
cidedly. 

*'  It  was  her  father's  wish  if  he  should  die  and  leave  her  an 
orphan,  that  I  should  assume  the  office  of  guardian,"  affii-med 
Mrs.  "Walton,  with  the  confidence  of  truth. 

^'  The  young,  lady  must  choose  for  herself,"  reiterated  the 
judge. 

Mrs.  Walton's  character  was  so  well  known  throughout  the 
county,  and  rumours  of  her  oppressive  treatment  of  her  lovely 
step-daughter  so  prevalent,  that  the  most  eager  interest  was 
manifested  in  the  auditors.  The  name  of  her  father  thrilled 
the  heart  of  Linda.  "Was  it  indeed  his  wish  ?  She  knew 
Mrs.  "Walton  harsh,  severe,  and  unkind,  but  she  had  never 
detected  her  in  a  falsehood.  She  was  aware  of  the  exalted 
opinion  her  father  had  of  her  powers  of  management,  and  she 
thought  it  more  than  probable  it  had  been  his  will.  That 
sacred  reverence  which  one  cherishes  for  the  wishes  of  the 
dead  subdued  the  excitement  of  her  feelings. 

"Was  it  indeed  my  father's  expressed  desire,  that  you 
should  be  elected  as  guardian,  in  preference  of  all  others  ?" 
she  asked,  in  a  low  voice,  of  her  step-mother. 

"  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  uttering  falsehoods/'  she  indig- 
nantly replied. 

"  In  obedience  then  to  my  father's  will,  sir,"  said  Linda, 
mournfully  turning  to  the  judge,  the  rich  colour  fading  from 
her  cheek,  "I  choose  my  step-mother  as  my  guardian."    ', 

Deep  disappointment  was  visible  on  the  countenances  of  the 
audience.  Even  a  murmur  of  disapprobation  was  heard^  but 
Mrs.  Walton,  with  a  triumphant  look,  turned  to  depart.  ]Mr. 
Marshall,  whose  benevolent  heart  bled  for  the  trials  which 
the  daughter  of  hia  friend  was  doomed  to  pass  through^  led 


176  LINDA;   OR,   THE  YOUNG   PILOT 

her  to  tBe  carriage.    He  grieved  for  the  decision  she  had  made, 
though  he  respected  the  motive. 

Poor  Linda  !  behold  her  seated  in  the  carriage  opposite  that 
vinegar  face,  looking  down  that  she  may  not  see  the  storm  she 
knows  is  about  to  roll  in  thunder  over  her  head.  She  had 
yielded,  it  is  true,  but  then  she  had  at  first  dared  to  oppose  her, 
in  public  too.  Besides  this,  there  were  long  arrears  to  settle, 
and  the  day  of  reckoning  was  come.  Robert  had  told  his 
mother  of  Linda's  disgraceful  confession,  and  she  had  only 
waited  till  the  scene  in  the  court  might  be  over,  to  pour  upon 
her  the  torrent  of  her  indignation. 

And  what  a  torrent  it  was  !  Linda  remained  still  and  im- 
passive— a  pearl  beneath  the  wrathful  billows.  But  all  at 
once  she  roused,  and  lightnings  flashed  from  her  eyes.  Ro- 
land a  mean  wretch,  a  low  adventurer,  a  base  fortune-hunter. 
No  ! — she  could  not  hear  such  expressions  without  an  indig- 
nant vindication.  Never  before  had  she  spoken  with  such 
dignity  and  warmth.  She  cared  not  for  the  invectives  that 
were  showered  upon  her.  The  majesty  of  virtuous  afiection 
sustained  her,  and  she  did  not  fear. 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  step-mother,  with  a  curdling  smile ; 
*'  I  know  how  to  save  my  family  from  disgrace.  Before  a 
week  has  passed  over  your  head,  you  shall  be  the  wife  of  Ro- 
bert ;  unworthy  as  you  are  of  such  a  blessed  lot." 

"  Never,  never  !"  exclaimed  Linda :  "  you  may  chain  me, 
force  me,  imprison  me,  if  you  will,  but  you  cannot  compel  my 
lips  to  utter  vows  so  false." 

^' There  is  no  need  of  your  uttering  them.  The  justice 
will  do  all  the  talking,"  replied  she,  with  a  sneer. 

Linda  did  not  reply,  and  Mrs.  Walton  believed  she  had 
won  the  victory ;  but  could  she  have  penetrated  the  thoughts 
of  her  step-daughter,  she  would  have  cherished  no  such  flat- 
tering delusion.  All  the  energies  of  her  spirit  were  roused, 
but  she  resolved  no  longer  to  waste  them  in  words. 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  177 

The  family  seamstress  entered  her  room  with  folds  of  shin- 
ing white  satin  suspended  from  her  arm. 

"  Miss  Lindy  will  please  let  me  measure  her/'  said  she,  with 
a  delighted  smile. 

''Your  labour  will  be  lost/'  answered  Linda,  quietly.  "I 
never  will  wear  the  dress." 

^'  Missus  say  I  must  make  it  right  off, — quick  as  I  can." 

"  Well,  obey  her/'  said  Linda ;  "  do  your  duty,  and  I  will 
do  mine." 

"  Oh,  Miss  Lindy  look  so  sweet  when  she  get  on  this  fine 
dress.  Massa  Hobert,  too,  so  handsome  V  continued  the 
seamstress,  passing  the  rich  folds  through  her  sable  fingers. 
Linda  seemed  to  have  adopted  a  system  of  non-resistance,  for 
she  sat  passive  as  a  statue,  while  the  bridal  robe  was  fitted  to 
her  youthful  form.  She  scarcely  seemed  to  notice  the  opera- 
tion that  was  going  on,  so  abstracted  was  her  eye,  so  marble 
was  her  cheek. 

The  room  which  she  occupied  was  in  the  wing  of  the  house, 
opposite  Mrs.  Walton's.  It  was  in  the  second  story,  and 
opened  into  a  piazza  that  extended  the  whole  length  of  the 
building.  It  was  shaded  by  large  hickory  trees,  whose 
branches,  shooting  out  too  luxuriantly  and  sweeping  against  the 
railing  of  the  piazza,  had  been  lopped  off,  while  the  trunks 
seemed  to  mingle  with  the  columns  of  the  portico,  relieving 
their  whiteness  by  their  brown  hue.  Long  after  the  family  was 
asleep,  Linda,  regardless  of  the  chilly  night  air,  had  wandered 
in  this  piazza,  trying  to  mature  some  plan  of  escape  from  the 
persecution  of  her  household.  She  could  take  refuge  with 
Mr.  Marshall,  but  her  step-mother  would  pursue  her  there^ 
unless  she  was  guarded  by  bars  of  brass  and  triple  steel. 
Even  should  she  fly  to  Emily,  her  enemy  would  take  the 
wings  of  the  morning  and  baflSe  her  flight.  Rose  Bower 
would  be  no  refuge,  for  her  residence  could  remain  no  secret 
in  that  youthful  community.     Her  mother  had  a  cousin  resid 


178  LINDA;    OR,   THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

ing  near  her  own  plantation  in  Louisiana,  and  who  had  the 
supervision  of  her  property.  Could  she  be  placed  under  his 
protection,  she  would  be  secure,  at  least  for  a  while.  While 
absorbed  in  these  meditations,  she  was  startled  by  the  rustling 
of  the  leaves  of  the  tree  near  which  she  stood.  A  voice 
vhispered  from  the  boughs, 

"  Let  not  the  young  lady  be  alarmed.  It  is  a  friend,  anx- 
ious for  her  welfare, — it  is.  Please  extinguish  the  light  in 
j-our  room,  so  that  its  reflection  may  not  fall  upon  the  piazza, 
and  then  approach  as  near  as  possible  to  avoid  the  danger  of 
being  overheard.  We  must  be  very  discreet, — very  discreet, 
indeed  we  must." 

Linda  recognised  the  voice  of  the  Scotchman,  and  a  wild 
hope  sprang  up  in  her  heart.  Had  Providence  sent  him  to 
assist  her  in  her  hour  of  need  ?  Eagerly  obeying  his  direc- 
tions, she  waited  in  trembling  expectation  to  learn  the  object 
of  his  coming. 

"A  strange  bird  has  lighted  on  your  tree,  my  dear  young 
lady,  but  I  trust  you  will  not  find  it  one  of  ill  omen.  I  could 
not  speak  with  you  alone  this  evening,  and  this  was  the  only 
means  of  communication  left.  My  heart  bleeds  for  you, — so 
young,  innocent,  and  unprotected.  I  cannot  bear  to  see  you 
sacrificed, — I  cannot.  I  impugn  not  the  motives  of  your  ex- 
cellent step-mother.  I  do  not  wish  to  judge  any  one,  but 
your  aversion  to  this  marriage  is  so  uncommon,  so  veiy  un- 
common, I  would  gladly  save  you  from  it." 

'^  Oh,  Mr.  McCleod,  how  is  that  possible  ? — tell  me,  and  I 
will  bless  you." 

^^  Hush,  Miss  Linda,  not  quite  so  loud,  if  you  please.  We 
must  be  wary,  very  war;j-  indeed.  Now,  you  know,  I  am  not 
a  young  man, — you  see  I  am  an  ugly  one,  and  believe  me  an 
honest  one.  Name  the  place  to  which  you  wish  to  escape,  and 
I  will  be  your  guardian  and  guide,  I  will.  You  can  trust  mt 
as  if  I  were  your  father ;  young  lady,  you  can." 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  179 

"How  kind,  how  good!"  exclaimed  Linda:  "but  your 
BcLool.  It  will  be  impossible  to  leave  it.  Alas  !  it  can- 
not  be." 

"I  will  obtain  permission  of  Mr.  Marshall,  who  is  my 
chief  patron,  to  dismiss  it  for  a  short  time.  It  is  an  excellent 
thing  to  give  occasional  recreation  to  children, — excellent. 
No  difficulty  on  this  point,  young  lady,  no  difficulty  at  all." 

Thus  reassured,  Linda  told  him  the  various  plans  that  had 
been  suggested  to  herself,  and  her  desire  to  go  to  Louisiana, 
in  preference  to  any  other  place.  He  seemed  to  have  arranged 
every  thing  already  for  that  purpose.  A  fleet  horse  would 
bear  them  to  the  landing,  where  boats,  constantly  running, 
could  transport  them  to  any  spot  on  the  rivers  of  the  south- 
west. To  elude  observation,  they  must  start  in  the  darkness 
of  night,  as  soon  as  sleep  and  silence  favoured  their  flight. 

"Then  let  it  be  to-morrow,"  exclaimed  Linda.  '^  I  cannot 
live  and  deceive.  I  shall  betray  my  purpose  if  I  linger.  Let 
every  thing  be  in  readiness.  I  have  no  words  to  thank  you, 
but  half  my  fortune  will  be  insufficient  to  prove  mv  grati- 
tude." ^  ^ 

^  "Do  not  speak  of  it,  young  lady.     The  satisfaction  of  re- 
lieving you  from  your  present  very  unpleasant  situation,  will 
be  the  only  reward  I  ask,  indeed  it  will.     The  young  gentle- 
man and  his  excellent  mother  will  be  angry;  but  if  the  young 
lady  is  pleased,  that  is  sufficient,— quite  sufficient,— ha,  ha !"° 
When  Linda  heard  the  inward  chuckle,  and  saw  the  dim 
outline  of  the  fiery  head  faintly  burning  through  the  cloudy 
night,  she  shivered  at  the  thought  of  committing  herself  to 
his  protection  in  the  loneliness  of  darkness.    Still,°the  respect- 
ability of  his  character,  his  disinterested  kindness,  his  supe^ 
rior  age,  were  guarantees  for  her  safety,  and  death  itself  was 
preferable  to  the  doom  that  awaited  her  at  home.     Could  she 
Bleep   after   that   strange    interview?     No,— rekindling   her 
lamp,  she  passed  the  remainder  of  the  night  in  writino.    She 


180  LINDA;    OR,  THE   YOtJXG   PILOT 

wrote  to  Emily  a  brief  but  entire  history  of  all  that  bad  oc- 
curred since  their  parting.  She  wrote  to  Roland,  but  spoke 
not  of  her  sufferings  or  intended  flight.  Once  arrived  at  a 
port  of  safety,  she  would  apprize  him  of  her  residence  and 
the  motives  that  guided  her  actions,  but  she  would  not  cause 
fruitless  pain  by  dwelling  on  sorrows  he  could  not  relieve. 
Her  last  task  was  to  address  Mr.  Marshall,  and  leave  with  him 
the  story  of  her  justification.  Was  it  indeed  her  last  ?  She 
thought  of  Robert,  and  the  pen  trembled  in  her  hand.  His 
wild  despair,  his  frantic  rage,  when  aware  of  her  departui-e, 
would  it  not  unthrone  his  reason?  Filled  with  pity,  and 
even  tortured  by  remorse  at  the  agony  she  was  about  to  in- 
flict, she  addressed  him  in  words  of  thrilling  eloquence,  while 
the  scalding  tears  that  blistered  her  paper  bore  evidence  that 
it  was  the  eloquence  of  the  heart.  She  wrote  with  the  solem- 
nity, the  tenderness  and  truth  of  a  last  farewell ;  and  if  ever 
the  human  heart  was  laid  bare,  in  all  its  purity,  singleness, 
innocence,  and  sensibility,  it  was  on  those  tear-blotted  pages, 
which  were  destined  never  to  leave  the  bosom  of  the  unhappy 
youth  to  whom  they  were  addressed. 

"  Oh  !  what  an  odious  task  is  mine  V  thought  she,  when, 
by  the  morning  light,  she  reviewed  the  past,  and  contemplated 
the  futur' .  "  But  am  I  not  driven  to  it  ?  Is  there  any  alter- 
native feft  ?  I'm  living  in  sin  and  strife,  in  an  atmosphere 
of  passion,  withering  to  my  soul's  life.  I'm  becoming  a  crea- 
ture of  wild  impulses,  which  might  urge  me  on  to  deeds  of 
madness  and  crime.  My  Father  who  art  in  heaven,  forgive 
me,  if  I  am  led  into  wrong." 

Robert,  in  whose  breast  conscience  and  passion  held  fearful 
warfare,  avoided  being  alone  with  Linda,  dreading  her  too  just 
reproaches.  Mrs.  "Walton,  exulting  in  the  successful  mastery 
she  had  obtained  over  the  will  of  her  rebellious  step-daughter, 
was  unusually  gracious.  She  even  filled  her  purse  to  over- 
flowing, a  boon   as  unexpected  as  it  was  welcome,  though 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  181 

teceived  by  Linda  with  blushes  of  conscious  guilt.  She 
thus  found  herself  supplied  with  ample  means  to  defray  the 
expenses  of  her  own  journey,  as  well  as  her  companion's. 
Mrs.  Walton  was  in  a  munificent  mood.  Even  to  her,  Linda's 
feelings  softened  in  the  prospect  of  leaving  her  for  ever. 
When  she  rose  to  seek  her  chamber  at  night,  and  thought  it 
might  be  the  last  time  she  might  ever  look  upon  his  face 
again,  that  face  so  eminently  handsome,  in  spite  of  the  dark 
passions  that  defaced  its  brightness,  she  turned  toward  Robert 
with  sad  and  tearful  eyes.  It  was  the  first  time  since  their 
last  meeting  alone,  that  she  had  voluntarily  sought  his  glance. 
It  had  upon  him  the  eflFect  of  electricity.  '^  Linda,"  said  he, 
drawing  near  her,  and  taking  her  hand,  with  unaccustomed 
gentleness;  then,  bending  down,  he  added  in  a  low  voice, 
^•'  Forgive  me,  if  I  have  made  you  unhappy,  but  if  an  eternity 
of  love  and  devotion  can  atone  for  the  past,  my  life  shall  be 
one  long  act  of  expiation." 

'^  Oh,  Robert,  I  forgive  you,"  said  she,  drooping  her  head 
on  his  shoulder,  to  hide  her  gushing  tears ;  ^^  but  the  time 
may  come  when  you  will  never  forgive  yourself." 

Robert  was  unutterably  afiected  by  her  manner.  He  had 
been  struggling  with  his  conscience,  and  smarting  from  its 
goads,  and  those  solemn,  gentle  words  unmanned  him.  Tears 
gathered  into  his  haughty  eyes,  and  fell  hot  and  fast  on  her 
pale,  fair  cheek,  like  those  large,  splashing  drops  that  fall 
from  the  thunder-cloud,  when  the  dry,  sultry  earth  seems  to 
repel  the  moisture. 

"  I  cannot  bear  this,"  she  faltered,  almost  fainting  from 
agitation.  "  God  bless  you,  Robert,"  and  breaking  from  the 
arms  that  sought  to  detain  her,  she  ran  up  stairs,  and  throw- 
ing herself  on  her  knees  by  the  bed-side,  wept  as  if  her  heart 
would  break.  She  was  tempted  to  remain  and  sacrifice  her 
happiness  for  his.  She  accused  herself  of  selfishness,  dupli 
city,  and  cruelty.    She  loathed  the  idea  of  the  twinkling-eyed 


182  LINDA;   OR,    THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

Scotchman,  with  his  chuckles  and  ha,  ha's.     "No — I  cannot 
go      Better  to  stay  and  die." 

The  door  softly  opened,  and  Aunt  Judy  inserted  her  white 
turret  through  the  aperture.  "  Bless  her  little  heart,"  she 
cried,  carefully  shutting  the  door,  and  approaching  her  weep- 
ing darling.  "What  is  the  matter?  Old  Judy  steal  away  a 
little  while,  just  to  get  a  peep  at  the  wedding  finery.  Folks 
tell  her,  Mius  Linda  love  Massa  Robert  now,  and  willing  to  let 
old  new  missus  have  her  way.  Jjless  the  Lord,  if  it  be  so — 
honey,  but  if  it  ben't,  don't  act  out  a  lie.  You  will  be  sorry 
for  it,  all  your  born  days." 

"Oh,  Aunt  Judy,  I  am  so  unhappy;"  and  throwing  her 
arms  across  the  faithful  creature's  lap,  she  sobbed  like  & 
wearied  child. 

"  Lackaday,  what  shall  I  do  for  her  ?"  cried  Judy,  smooth- 
ing her  young  mistress'  beautiful  brown  tresses  with  her  la- 
bour-hardened hand.  "What  would  poor  dear  dead  mistress 
say,  if  she  live  to  see  this  day  ?  Don't  marry  Massa  Robert, 
if  you  no  love  him,  honey.  He  too  fierce,  too  headstrong. 
He  make  you  all  the  time  live  in  a  storm.  Nigger  no  busi- 
ness tell  white  folks  what  to  do,  but  she  feel  what  right  in  her 
heart.  She  know  it's  sin  to  stand  up  'fore  Grod,  and  swear  to 
love  all  the  days  of  her  life,  when  she  no  love  one  bit.'^ 

Linda  rose  up,  strengthened  in  her  purpose  by  the  true 
words  of  the  faithful  African. 

"  You  are  right,  Judy,"  said  she,  bathing  her  burning  eyes, 
to  clear  away  the  blinding  mist.  "  I  will  not  commit  this 
sin.  If  God  sends  me  a  way  of  escape,  I  will  not  let  it  go. 
Here,  take  this  letter  to  your  master,  and  bless  him  for  all  his 
kindness.  And  pray,  Judy,  that  the  time  will  soon  come, 
when  I  can  give  you  a  home  on  the  banks  of  the  Mississippi, 
where  I  can  repay  you  in  your  latter  days  for  all  your  lovo 
and  fidelity  to  my  orplian  childhood.  Here — take  this  and 
this/'    Dressing  silver  tokens  of  remembrance  in  her  ebon 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  183 

hand,  "  good  and  faithful  friend,  and  if  you  liear  any  one 
speak  harshly  of  your  young  mistress,  tell  them — but  no 
matter.     Go,  now,  Judy,  I  would  be  alone." 

"  Oh,  Miss  Linda,"  sobbed  the  weeping  slave,  "  it  break 
my  heart  to  hear  you  talk  so  solemn.  Oh,  it  was  an  awful 
day,  when  good  JMassa  Walton  brought  that  white-eyed  woman 
and  her  big  saucy  boy  into  this  house.  I  always  thought  it  a 
judgment  on  him." 

"  Hush,  Judy,  if  you  love  me — and  go.  I  must  be  alone." 
With  lingering  tenderness,  Judy  looked  back  upon  the  young 
face,  which  was  to  her  the  image  of  all  that  was  sweet  and 
lovely  on  earth,  and  of  all  that  she  dreamed  of  the  angels  of 
light.  Linda  felt  as  if  forsaken  by  her  last  friend,  but  she 
struggled  with  her  emotions,  and  tried  to  arm  herself  with 
fortitude  and  resolution.  Her  little  bundle  was  prepared,  the 
letter  to  Robert  placed  in  a  conspicuous  position  on  the  mantel- 
piece, her  shawl  ready  to  wrap  around  her,  and  she  was  count- 
ing the  moments  by  the  loud  beatings  of  her  heart.  All  be- 
came still  as  the  grave,  and  she  knew  that  the  hour  was  come. 
She  was  to  meet  McCleod  in  the  grove  adjoining  the  yard, 
where  he  would  be  waiting  in  the  shadow  of  the  trees. 

"  Oh  !"  she  sighed,  "  when,  years  ago,  I  went  out  in  dark- 
ness and  stealth,  it  was  to  plead  for  another,  and  I  was  strong. 
But  for  myself,  I  am  now  forsaking  home,  and  braving  un- 
known perils.  Alas  !  how  weak  I  am."  Slowly  and  noise- 
lessly she  glided  down  the  same  back  stair-way,  and  came 
forth  under  the  shadow  of  night.  The  light  of  a  partially 
clouded  moon  favoured  her  fugitive  steps.  She  knew  noAV 
there  was  no  necessity  of  appeasing  the  Cerberus  with  bis- 
cuits, when  a  whisper  of  her  soft,  recognised  voice  would 
check  his  fiercest  growl.  She  paused  and  trembled,  thinking 
she  heard  footsteps  approaching,  but  it  was  only  the  echo  of 
her  own.  With  the  cold  dew  of  fear  gathering  on  her  brow, 
she  hastened  cnward  to  the  spot  where  McCleod  stood,  holding 


184  LINDA  ;   OR,  THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

by  the  bridle  the  impatient  horse,  who  was  pawing  the  ground 
and  champing  his  bit,  indicative  of  his  haste  to  depart. 

"Wait  a  moment,"  cried  she,  putting  her  hand  distract- 
edly to  her  head.  "  I  am  so  dizzy.  I  shall  fall  if  I  attempt 
to  ride.'' 

"  Let  not  the  young  lady  be  alarmed,"  replied  McCleod,  in 
a  soothing  voice.  "  The  horse  is  perfectly  gentle,  and  she 
may  rely  on  my  protection  implicitly — she  may.  I  have 
learned  that  a  boat  will  certainly  be  at  the  landing  by  morn- 
ing, and  if  we  make  no  delay,  we  shall  reach  there  in  time. 
Don't  be  cast  down,  Miss  Lindy.  There  is  no  cause,  indeed, 
there  is  none." 

"  Well,  God  bless  y^u,  sir,  as  you  are  faithful  to  the  trust 
reposed  in  you."  She  is  up — she  is  gone — swiftly  she  is 
borne  through  the  dark  pine-woods.  She  has  lost  the  ghost- 
like gleam  of  her  mother's  white  marble  tomb-stone,  the  last 
glimpse  of  the  paternal  roof.  Her  heart  feels  like  a  stone  in 
her  bosom,  so  heavy — so  cold — so  sinking.  Every  once  and 
a  while,  the  Scotchman  turns  and  whispers  words  of  cheer 
and  comfort,  and  she  tries  to  be  grateful,  and  to  check  the 
shuddering  sensation  that  runs,  like  an  ague  fit,  through  her 
.  limbs.  Oh  !  how  long  seem  the  hours  of  that  night  to  her 
excited  imagination  !  how  chilling  the  gray  light  of  approach- 
ing dawn !  At  length  she  has  reached  the  landing.  Faint 
and  exhausted,  she  is  lifted  from  the  horse  and  placed  under 
a  spreading  tree.  McCleod  looks  anxiously  up  the  stream, 
watching  for  the  dark  wreath  that  crowns  the  steam-borne 
bark.  Hark  !  a  sullen,  plunging  sound  is  heard.  A  cloud, 
heavier  than  the  gray  of  morning,  sweeps  along  the  sky.  The 
agitated  river  curls  in  waves  against  the  banks,  as  the  boat 
comes  nearer  and  nearer;  and  the  steam  rushes  howling 
through  its  iron  veins.  Linda  is  on  board.  Safe  from  present 
pursuit,  she  sinks  upon  a  couch,  and,  worn  out  by  two  sleep 
Lqss.  harrowing  nights,  fulls  into  deep,  protracted  slumbers. 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.'  185 

When  she  awoke,  and  felt  the  cool  hreeze  of  the  river  blow- 
ing on  her  cheek,  and  heard  the  lulling  sound  of  the  water 
dathing   against  the  shore,  she  started,  and  leaned  on  her 
elbow  with  bewildered  air.     She  passed  her  hand  over  her 
eyes  to  clear  her  vision,  and  see  if  the  banks  were  indeed 
there,  apparently  scudding  so  swiftly  by.     Then  a  glad  sense 
of  freedom,  of  relief  from  persecution,  and  hope  of  future 
joy— a  radiant   vision   of   Roland  Lee— came  rushing   and 
beaming  over  her.     She  rose  refreshed  and  cheered,  bathed 
her   fac°e,   arranged   her   disordered  dress,   and   restored    to 
smoothness   and. beauty  her  tangled   locks.      A   glow,  like 
the    dawning  of  morning,  mantled  her  cheek.      One  could 
hardly  have  recognised,  in  her  brightened  countenance,  the 
pale,  trembling,  weeping   fugitive  of  the  preceding   night. 
Then  despair  reigned,  but  hope  now  claimed  the  empire  of  her 
heart.     When  McCleod  met  her  on  deck,  he  rubbed  his  hand? 

with  rapture. 

''How  charmingly  you  look,  Miss  Linda!"  he  exclaimed 
<'  I  told  you,  you  had  nothing  to  fear— nothing.  Every  thing 
favours  us ;  a  fine,  fast-sailing  boat,  one  of  the  best  on  the 
river— the  very  best;  and  just  to  think  of  its  meeting  us  the 
very  moment  we  had  arrived— the  very  moment !  We  shall 
have  a  fine  moon  to-night— we  shall.  I  never  felt  so  happy 
in  my  life,  young  lady.  I  feel  sorry  for  the  young  man  and 
his  excellent  mother;  but  I  feel  very  happy  myself— I  do— 

ha,  ha!"  .  ,, 

"  Never,  never,  can  I  repay  your  disinterested  kindness,' 

cried  Linda ;  "  but  there's  one  in  heaven  who  will,"  added 

she,  looking  upward  with  one  of  those  lovely  expressions 

peculiar  to  her  dark  hazel  eyes. 

The  Scotchman  turned  aside  his  head,  and  passed  his  hand- 

keri^hief  over  his  face. 

"  Do  not  speak  of  it,"  said  he,  as  if  oppressed  by  her  gra- 


186  LINDA;   OR,   THE  YOUNG  PILOT 

titude ;  "  it  is  not  worth  mentioning.  I  am  more  than  repaid 
already — I  am." 

When  Linda  first  entered  the  boat,  she  felt  it  an  unspeak- 
able relief  that  there  were  no  other  female  passengers,  with 
curious  eyes  and  inquisitive  lips,  to  embarrass  and  annoy  her. 
But  when  night  came  on,  a  feeling  of  indescribable  loneliness 
oppressed  her,  combined  with  the  remembrance  of  those  terri- 
ble scenes  of  which  that  river,  over  which  they  were  now 
peacefully  gliding,  was  the  theatre,  and  herself  a  suffering 
actor.  She  leaned  over  the  railing,  and  watched  the  glitter  of 
the  moonlight  on  the  rippling  waves,  so  bright,  so  dazzling, 
BO  intense,  the  reflected  beams  seemed  to  mock  the  paler  glory 
of  the  heavens.  Gradually  a  soft,  translucent  mist  rose,  like 
a  silver  exhalation  from  the  bosom  of  the  water,  and  floated 
in  gauzy  wreaths  along  the  shore.  Seen  through  this  mellow- 
ing haze,  the  landscape  beyond  assumed  the  indistinctness  and 
loveliness  of  fairy  land,  and,  as  the  vapory  curtain  lifted 
higher  and  higher  its  diaphanous  folds,  the  moon  smiled 
through  the  veil  of  fleecy  whiteness  with  pale  and  nun-like 
beauty. 

"A  very  sweet  night  it  is,"  said  the  voice  of  the  Scotchman; 
*'  but  I  fear  the  fog  will  become  so  thick  we  shall  have  to  stop 
Bailing  till  morning." 

^'  Oh,  I  hope  not,"  cried  Linda,  painfully  awakened  to  the 
realities  of  her  situation ;  "  it  would  be  dreadful.  Another 
boat  might  overtake  us,  and  my  flight  be  discovered." 

"  If  we  are  able  to  sail  about  twelve  miles  farther,  all  will 
be  well,"  repeated  McCleod,  as  if  talking  to  himself;  then, 
taking  Linda's  hand  and  drawing  it  through  his  arm,  ^'  Let 
us  walk  the  deck  awhile,  if  you  are  not  disposed  to  sleep. 
Every  thing  is  so  still,  it  seems  as  if  we  were  alone  in  the 
world — it  does." 

Linda  sighed  She  could  not  bear  the  proximity  of  this 
man,  to  whom  she  was  under  such  unutterable  obligations, 


OJi'  THE   BELLE   CIvEOLE.  187 

and  she  hated  herself  for  her  ingratitude.  To  excuse  herself 
for  withdrawing  her  arm  from  his,  she  proposed  sitting  on 
deck,  and  the  obliging  Scotchman  brought  out  chairs  and 
placed  them  side  by  side.  When,  however,  he  seated  him- 
self so  near,  that  he  placed  his  arm  over  the  back  of  her 
chair,  she  wished  she  had  continued  her  promenade,  finding 
motion  to  her  restless  mind  preferable  to  repose. 

"  Miss  Linda,"  said  McCleod,  '^  how  would  you  like  to  rest 
a  while  in  a  lonely  spot,  not  very  far  from  here,  in  perfect 
quiet  and  seclusion  ?  There  would  be  no  danger  of  your  be- 
ing discovered  by  your  friends — none  in  the  world.  Yeiy 
few  know  of  its  locality — very  few,  indeed.  You  can  remain 
there  as  long  as  you  please,  and  no  one  shall  molest  you  or 
make  you  afraid — they  shall  not." 

"  No,  no,"  cried  Linda,  "  I  do  not  want  rest ;  I  dread  it 
till  I  reach  my  destination.  Once  with  my  mother's  relatives, 
I  shall  feel  safe,  and  only  then." 

"  Are  you  not  safe  with  me,  my  dear  young  lady  ?  Not 
one  of  your  relatives  can  regard  you  with  deeper  interest  than 
I  do — not  one." 

"  You  are  very  kind ;  but  I  sigh  for  a  home — a  shelter 
from  persecution  and  violence, — such  as  I  shall  find  with  my 
mother's  kindred." 

"  I  will  furnish  you  a  home,  young  lady,  where  persecution 
and  violence  shall  never  reach  you,  and  where  I  will  protect 
you  with  the  fondest  care — I  will." 

"  Where  do  your  mother  and  sisters  live  ?"  asked  Linda, 
wondering  she  had  never  heard  him  speak  of  his  quiet,  happy 
home  before. 

^'I  have  no  mother  or  sisters,"  replied  he,  rubbing  his 
hands  softly  together,  while  his  eyes  twinkled  like  meteors 
through  the  thickening  mist.  ^<  I  am  a  lone  man,  a  very  lone 
man — I  am.  I  have  long  been  thinking  of  taking  unto  my- 
self a  wife  ;  but  never  saw  one  of  woman-kind  tbit  pleased 
12 


l?^8  LINDA ;    on,  THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

iny  fancy — I  never  did — until — until" — lac  stammered  ;  and, 
ttgain  passing  his  arm  over  the  back  of  her  chair,  let  his  hand 
fall  gently  on  her  shoulder 

<^  Until  when  ?"  cried  she,  starting  up  in  inexplicable 
emotion. 

''  Till  I  saw  you,  my  dear  young  lady,  looking  so  sweet 
and  beautiful,  and  smiling  so  lovely,  at  the  table  of  your  ex- 
cellent step-mother.  Yes,  I  loved  you,"  he  exclaimed,  gather- 
in  ^  assurance  now  the  astounding;  declaration  was  made — "I 
did ;  and,  seeing  with  great  delight  your  aversion  to  Robert, 
I  brought  you  away  to  marry  you  myself — to  marry  you  my- 
self—ha,  ha  r 

Linda  stood  as  if  transfixed  by  a  bolt  from  heaven ;  but, 
when  the  traitor  dared  to  put  his  arms  round  her,  she  shook 
him  off  with  the  strength  of  a  young  lioness. 

"  Touch  me  not  on  your  life,"  she  cried;  "  come  not  near 
me,  or,  by  heaven,  I'll  plunge  headlong  into  the  river  rolling 
beneath." 

"  Come,  Miss  Linda,  don't  be  so  violent,"  said  he,  in  a  soft, 
wheedling  tone.  "  You  mustn't  be  so  hard  to  please — you 
mustn't.  Perhaps  I  am  not  as  handsome  as  Robert ;  but  I 
can  take  excellent  care*  of  your  property — I  can  ;  and,  as  for 
loving  you,  there  are  not  words  enough  in  the  English  lan- 
guage to  express  half  the  love  I  bear  you — there  is  not. 
Don't  be  frightened — don't  be  afraid  of  me — I'll  make  you  a 
thousand  times  better,  more  constant  husband  than  any  of 
these  wild  young  fellows — I  will." 

'^  Oh !  thou  treacherous  monster  ! — thou  base,  deceiving 
wretch !"  she  exclaimed,  every  fibre  quivering  with  indigna- 
tion, ^Ho  lure  me  away  from  home,  with  promises  of  parental 
protection — to  wind  yourself  into  my  confidence  and  esteem — 
that  you  might  insult  and  outrage  me  by  a  declaration  like 
this.  Away,  if  you  would  not  drive  mc  mad.  Merciful 
Father  !"  bhc  continued,  stretching  up  her  arms  to  the  sky, 


OF  THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  189 

now  covered  with  a  thick^  dark  curtain  of  condensing  mist, 
*^why  hast  thou  forsaken  my  desohite  youth  ?" 

^'^Ye\l,  I  will  leave  you  a  while  to  think  on  the  subject," 
Baid  the  wily  Scotchman,  quailing  at  the  sight  of  her  terrible 
despair.  "  You  have  no  choice  left,  my  dear ;  you  have  no 
friend  in  the  world  to  whom  you  can  apply  for  protection  at 
this  time  but  me — you  have  not.  You  are  completely  in  my 
power,  and  I  haven't  taken  all  this  pains  for  nothing.  No 
power  on  earth,  or  in  heaven,  shall  take  you  from  my  hands.  I 
shall  have  the  sweetest  little  wife  in  the  world,"  cried  the 
odious  wretch,  rubbing  his  hands  and  chuckling ;  "  the  sweet- 
est little  wife  in  the  world,  one  of  these  days — I  will." 

Thus  saying,  he  skulked  into  the  cabin,  secure  of  his  prey, 
and  gloating  in  fancy  over  the  treasure  he  had  betrayed  into 
his  power.  Linda  remained  leaning  against  the  slight  railing 
that  separated  her  from  a  watery  grave,  in  a  state  of  mind 
bordering  on  frenzy.  She  pressed  both  hands  on  her  hot  brow, 
terrified  at  the  strange,  dizzy,  delirious  sensations  rushing 
through  her  brain.  One  fearful  thought  predominated  over 
every  other,  that  she  was  forsaken  by  God  and  man,  and  given 
over  to  desolation  and  misery.  The  boat  gave  a  sudden 
wrench,  that  threw  her  backward  against  the  door  of  her  state- 
room ;  then  there  was  a  grinding  sound  against  the  banks,  a 
violent  gust  of  steam  howling  from  the  pipes,  and  all  was  still. 
The  boat  was  moored  for  the  night,  for  the  river  was  wrapped  in 
a  mantle  of  impenetrable  fog,  and,  after  a  short  time,  not  a 
sound  was  heard,  save  the  occasional  cry  of  a  night-bird  wail- 
ing on  the  shore. 

What  slight,  dark-clad  figure  is  that,  stealing  down  tho 
damp,  slippery  steps,  over  the  narrow,  vibrating  plank,  then 
springing  on  the  sandy  bank  ?  It  glides  through  the  fog  with 
rapid  motion,  penetrates  deeper  and  deeper  into  the  woods, 
following  the  path  dimly  seen  through  the  obscurity  of  the 
night       Alas !    poor   fugitive !    what  will   become   of  thee. 


190  LINDA  ;    OR;  THE    YOUNG   PILOT 

guideless,  homeless,  and  hopeless;  treachery  behind  thee,  ani 
darkness  and  unknown  dangers  before  ? 

"  Oh !  dreadful  is  this  loneliness/'  sighed  Linda,  pausing 
for  breath,  and  leaning  against  a  blasted  pine,  fit  emblem  of 
her  blighted  hopes,  "  but  more  dreadful  is  the  enemy  from 
whom  I  flj.  I  shall  perish  here  in  the  wild  woods,  and  Ro- 
land will  never  know  where  to  find  my  nameless  grave,  to  shed 
one  tear  over  her  who  died  that  she  might  remain  true  to 
him."  A  flood  of  tears  deluged  her  cheeks,  and  relieved  the 
burning  fever  of  her  brain.  She  wept  long  and  bitterly,  and 
as  she  wept,  a  gentle  feeling  of  submission  to  the  Divine  will 
stole  into  her  heart,  like  a  dove  brooding  over  the  billows. 
She  felt  willing  to  die.  Young  as  she  was,  life  had  been  full 
of  trials.  It  would  be  sweet  to  meet  her  mother  in  heaven, 
and  sweeter  still  to  pillow  her  weary,  aching  head  on  the  com- 
passionate bosom  of  her  Saviour  and  her  God.  Kneeling  at 
the  foot  of  that  blasted  pine,  in  that  breathing  solitude,  that 
lone,  damp,  dreary  spot,  the  young  heiress,  torn  from  every 
earthly  stay,  committed  herself  to  Him  whose  eye  pierces  the 
mist-darkened  forest,  as  well  as  the  sun-lighted  temple.  She 
felt  as  if  an  angel  came  and  ministered  unto  her,  whispering 
peace  to  her  sinking  heart. 

"  Why  art  thou  cast  down,  0  my  soul  \"  she  cried,  rising 
from  her  knees,  and  renewing  her  solitary  journey,  "  and  why 
art  thou  disquieted  within  me  ?  Hope  in  Grod ;  for  I  shall  yet 
praise  him  for  the  help  of  his  countenance."  It  was  astonish- 
ing how  texts  of  Scripture,  learned  in  earliest  childhood  at 
her  mother's  knee,  stole  on  her  memory  like  echoes  of  celestial 
voices,  vocalizing  the  fearful  solitude  of  those  lone  woods. 
She  had  escaped  a  doom  far  worse  than  death.  God  had  sent 
up  that  mist  from  the  bosom  of  the  river  that  she  midit 
escape  from  the  face  of  her  enemy.  Perchance  he  would  raise 
III  a  friend  to  protect  her  by  the  wayside ;  and  she  went  on 
I  ^knowing  whither  she  went,  the  mist  rolling  before,  like  tho 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  191 

pillar  of  cloud  that  guarded  the  children  of  Israel  in  their 
weary  pilgrimage. 

She  knew  not  the  distance  she  had  travelled,  or  the  time 
that  had  elapsed ;  but  she  felt  that  her  blistering  feet  could 
not  bear  her  long,  even  the  light  bundle  that  hung  on  her  arm 
weighed  heavily  on  her  weary  frame.  "Was  it  a  torch  that 
gleamed  through  the  fog,  or  did  her  blinded  eyes  deceive  her  ? 
It  grew  brighter,  till  the  mist  reddened  and  dispersed  around 
it,  and  she  beheld  a  clearing  in  the  woods.  At  first  her 
dazzled  sight  could  distinguish  nothing  but  a  broad  blaze- 
issuing  from  a  cluster  of  pine  knots,  piled  near  a  tall  ancestral- 
looking  tree ;  but  the  outlines  of  a  human  figure,  seated  against 
the  trunk,  so  still  and  dark,  it  seemed  a  part  of  the  bronze- 
coloured  bark,  soon  came  out  in  bold  distinctness.  It  was  a 
red-browed  son  of  the  wilderness,  looking  in  the  shadow  of 
that  aged  tree  like  the  lone  representative  of  his  ruined  and 
fast-expiring  race.  The  dog  that  slept  at  his  feet,  wakened 
by  the  stranger's  footstep,  leaped  up  and  barked.  The  Indian 
grasped  his  rifle,  and  looked  fiercely  towards  the  intruder. 

It  was  too  late  for  flight.  She  had  been  seen,  and  she 
might  as  well  think  to  escape  the  lightning's  bolt  as  the  fleet 
foot  of  the  red  man.  A  horrid  vision  of  the  scalping-knife 
and  the  burning  stake  passed  before  her,  as,  urged  by  despe- 
ration, she  darted  forward,  and  threw  herself  on  her  knees  be- 
fore the  astonished  Indian.  Her  bonnet,  loosely  confined  by 
a  knot  of  ribbons,  fell  back  from  her  head,  revealing  her 
wildly  luxuriant  hair  and  alabaster  forehead.  She  could  not 
speak,  but  her  clasped  hands  and  pleading  eyes  were  full  of 
prayer  and  supplication. 

^'  White  stranger,"  said  the  Indian,  in  a  deep,  musical  voice 
and  true  to  the  stoicism  of  his  tribe,  exhibiting  no  sign  of 
wonder ;  "  white  stranger,  how  came  you  here,  alone  ?" 

A  cry  of  joy  issued  from  Linda's  heart.  He  spoke  her  lan- 
guage.    He  cou.i  understand;  he  could  answer  her.     Hia 


102  linha;  or,  the  young  pilot 

voice  had  the  tone  of  civilization.  She  even  thought  a  gleam 
of  kindness  softened  his  small,  glittering  eye.  Had  she  studied 
for  years  to  indite  an  address  of  eloquence  and  power  to  move 
his  compassion,  she  could  not  have  uttered  any  thing  more 
thrilling  or  persuasive,  than  the  simple  words  that  burst  spon- 
taneously from  her  lips  : — 

^^  Save  me  from  the  white  man,  or  I  perish." 

"  Grood  V  ejaculated  the  Indian.  ^'  I  will  take  care  of  the 
white  maiden.  Yonder  is  my  cabin,  but  it  is  far  from  this 
spot.  You  are  tired,  and  can  walk  no  farther.  But  I  will 
carry  you,  for  my  arm  is  strong." 

"  I  can  walk,"  said  Linda,  faintly,  but  she  tottered  as  she 
spoke,  and  would  have  fallen  to  the  earth,  had  not  the  friendly 
arm  of  the  Indian  sustained  her.  liaising  her  as  lightly  as 
be  wouid  an  eagle's  feather,  he  shouldered  his  rifle  on  the 
other  arm,  whistled  to  his  dog,  and  plunged  into  the  woods. 

Linda  was  so  much  exhausted  in  body  and  mind,  that  she 
was  reduced  to  the  helplessness  of  infancy,  and  lay  against  the 
shoulder  of  her  dusky  guide,  scarcely  conscious  of  the  pillow 
on  which  she  leaned.  At  length  he  stopped  at  the  door  of  a 
log-cabin. 

*'  Naimuna,"  cried  the  Indian,  lifting  the  latch.  A  woman 
seen  by  the  light  of  the  smouldering  fire  rose  from  a  pile  of 
bear-skins,  and  gazed  with  bewildered  countenance  on  the 
fair,  helpless  burden  he  bore  in  his  arms. 

^'Spread  a  blanket  over  the  skins,"  said  he.  '^Lay  it 
smooth,  and  let  the  white  wanderer  rest." 

As  she  sunk  on  her  soft  bed  of  furs,  and  felt  the  warmth 
of  the  fire,  now  replenished  by  fresh  pine  knots,  penetrating 
her  chilled  and  aching  limbs,  and  was  conscious,  too,  that  one 
of  her  own  sex,  though  of  darker  race,  bent  kindly  over  her, 
arranging  a  pillow  for  her  weary  head,  she  closed  her  eyes 
with  a  feeling  of  grateful  security,  and  the  ^'  white  wanderer" 
jjidccd  found  rest. 


OP  THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  193 


CHAPTER  XV. 

"  Not  in  her  room  V  exclaimed  Mrs.  "Walton.  "  Ila-y  j  not 
seen  her  this  morning !     It  is  very  strange.'' 

"No,  missus/'  said  Nelly,  "but  here  is  a  letter  I  found  on 
the  mantel-piece.  It  wan't  there  last  night,  and  may  be  it  is 
for  you." 

"  'Tis  mine,"  cried  Robert,  starting  forward  and  snatching 
it  with  a  shaking  hand.  Bursting  open  the  seal,  his  eyes  ran 
over  a  few  lines,  while  his  mother  looked  over  his  shoulder  as 
he  read.  All  at  once  he  turned  furiously  round  and  grasped 
her  by  the  shoulder. 

"  Mother,  mother !  this  is  your  work.  You  have  driven 
her  away  by  your  cruelty.  You  have  made  me  a  partner  in 
your  wickedness.  You  have  destroyed  us  both."  Thus  say- 
ing, he  rushed  fro»  the  house,  calling  in  a  voice  of  thunder 
for  his  horse. 

"  Robert,  Robert !"  cried  his  mother,  pursuing  him  to  the 
door,  "  come  back.  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  You  know 
not  whejp  she  is  gone.  Where's  Mr.  McCleod  ?  I  have  not 
seen  him  either  this  morning.  Vile  wretches !  they  must 
have  gone  off  together.  Base  h3rpocrites  !  I  wiU  have  ven- 
geance on  them  both.     Robert,  Robert !" 

But  Robert  heeded  her  not.  In  a  few  moments  he  came 
thundering  through  the  yard  on  his  coal-bkck  horse,  the 
swiftest  rider  in  the  country,  and  as  the  loud  cry  of  "■  Robert, 
Robert !"  again  issued  from  his  mother's  lips,  he  turned  his 
head,  shook  his  hand  in  defiance,  and  continued  his  headlong 
course.  He  saw  the  print  of  heavy  hoofs  in  the  wood-path, 
and  was  sure  he  was  in  the  fugitive's  track.    Onward  he  went. 


194  LINDA;    OR;    THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

till  the  path  was  lost  in  the  main-road,  and,  guided  by  th« 
same  prints,  he  dashed  forward,  without  pausing  even  to  wipe 
the  sweat-drops  from  his  brow.  It  was  considered  a  day's 
^urney  by  carriage  to  the  landing-place,  but  the  sun  was  still 
several  hours  from  setting,  when  Robert  arrived  at  the  spot, 
his  horse  reeking  with  sweat  and  flecked  with  foam.  The  rivei 
was  flowing  calmly  on,  blue  as  the  heavens  it  reflected,  and 
nothing  broke  on  the  monotonous  rippling  of  the  waters  but 
the  strokes  of  a  wood-cutter's  axe,  reverberating  from  the  op- 
posite blufi".  He  threw  his  bridle  round  a  projecting  branch, 
and  leaping  over  intervening  piles  of  wood,  stood  face  to  face 
with  the  wood-cutter. 

"  Has  a  boat  passed  to-day?  Did  you  see  a  young  lady  at 
the  landing  this  morning  ?  Was  there  a  red-haired  gentle- 
man with  her  ?"  were  questions  so  rapidly  put,  that,  the  man 
drew  a  long  breath,  before  he  attempted  to  answer. 

^'  Yes — I  saw  a  young  lady  riding  behind  a  red-haired  man, 
stop  abdut  here,  early  this  morning ;  and  there  was  a  boat 
come  along  the  very  minute  they  got  off  the  horse,  and  they 
were  away  down  the  river  in  a  mighty  hurry." 

"  Was  she  drest  in  black  ?" 

"  Yes — I  believe  so ;  and  a  mighty  pretty  young  lady  ste 
was,  though  she  looked  sort  of  flustered ;  but  as  for  the  man, 
he  was  the  ugliest  fellow  I  ever  sot  eyes  on."  •• 

*^What  was  the  name  of  the  boat?" 

"  The  Red  Rover." 

"  When  will  another  boat  be  here  ?" 

"I  don't  know.  Sometimes  there's  a  heap  of  them  all 
together  as  'twere.  Then,  again,  there  ain'^t  any  for  two  or 
three  days." 

"  I  must  get  a  passage  immediately.  I  would  give  a  king- 
dom, if  I  had  it,  for  a  glimpse  of  smoke  on  the  river." 

"  You  had  better  sit  down  on  the  wood-pile  and  watch.  1 
think  I  hearn  them  say,  there  was  one  to  be  along  'fore  night. 


OP   THE  BELLE  CREOLE.  195 

I  know  I've  been  chopping  hard  enough  to  have  wood  ready 
beforehand.  They  burn  an  amazing  sight  of  wood  on  these 
steamboats.''  The  wood-cutter  resumed  his  axe,  and  again 
the  opposite  bluff  reverberated  with  the  sound. 

Robert  could  not,  would  not  sit  down.  He  walked  back- 
ward and  forward,  like  a  lion  in  a  cage,  sometimes  stamping 
the  ground  impatiently,  and  looking  fiercely  up  the  river,  as 
if  he  would  have  lashed  its  waves,  like  another  Xerxes,  in  the 
impotence  of  his  passion.  At  length,  just  as  the  sun  was 
slowly  dipping  in  the  western  horizon,  the  dark  cloud  was 
seen  floating  onward,  for  which  his  straining  eyes  had  been  so 
long  looking — winged  by  steam,  the  motions  of  the  vessel 
were  almost  as  swift  as  his  desires,  and  leading  his  weary 
horse,  the  being  next  to  Linda  he  loved  best  on  earth,  he 
soon  entered  the  boat  that  bore  him  in  the  wake  of  the  fu- 
gitives. 

^^  Is  this  a  fast-sailing  boat  ?"  was  the  first  question  he  asked, 
as  exhausted  from  fatigue  and  want  of  food  he  reeled  into  a 
chair,  as  soon  as  he  entered  the  cabin. 

^^Yery,"  was  the  reply.  "Don't  you  see,  she's  called  the 
Mercury,  on  account  of  her  speed?'' 

But  fast  as  she  sailed,  her  motions  seemed  slow  to  Robert's 
fiery  spirit.  It  was  a  clear,  brilliant  night,  and  she  pursued 
her  way  unimpeded  only  by  occasional  pauses,  to  take  in 
freight  of  cotton  bales,  which  came  rolling  down  the  wooden 
slides,  like  avalanches  from  the  mountain  slope.  He  slept 
only  by  feverish  fits,  and  when  the  vessel  shook  and  heaved, 
as  the  heavy  masses  tumbled  against  its  sides,  he  would  start 
up  and  rush  on  deck,  forgetting  on  what  element  he  waa 
borne. 

When,  after  sweeping  through  the  bay,  the  boat  landed  at 
the  wharf,  he  eagerly  sought  the  name  of  Red  Rover  on  the 
vessels  moored  there.  "Here  is  the  captain  of  the  Red  Rover, 
coming  on  board,"  remarked  a  passenger,  as  a  gentleman  en- 


196  LINDA ;    OR,   THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

tereJ  the  social  hall.  Robert  approached  him,  with  an  agitar 
tion  that  for  a  moment  deprived  him  of  the  power  of  utterance. 

"  Was  there  a  very  young  lady,  dressed  in  mourning,  a  pas- 
senger in  your  boat  yesterday?"  asked  he.  ^' And  was  she 
accompanied  by  a  gentleman  with  red  hair  ?" 

^'  Yes,"  answered  the  captain,  looking  compassionately  on 
he  pale  face  and  quivering  lip  of  the  young  man.  ^^  Ai-e  you 
her  relative  V 

"  K'o  matter  what  I  am,"  answered  he,  impetuously.  ^'  But 
tell  me  where  she  is !     I  must  see  her." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  you,"  said  the  captain.  "  Nothing  has 
ever  occurred,  since  I  have  had  the  command  of  a  boat,  that 
gave  me  such  deep  distress.  She  was  so  young  and  lovely, 
and  seemed  so  sad." 

"In  heaven's  name,  tell  me  what  has  happened?"  cried 
Robert,  grasping  the  captain's  arm  with  a  force  that  made  it 
ache. 

"  Pray,  be  calm,  sir,  and  I  will  give  you  all  the  particulars 
with  which  I  am  acquainted.  The  unfortunate  young  lady, 
to  whom  you  allude  was  seen  walking  on  the  deck,  with  the 
gentleman  who  seemed  to  be  her  protector,  till  a  late  hour. 
What  passed  between  them,  I  know  not,  but  passionate  tones 
were  heard  on  both  sides.  She  remained  alone  after  the  gen- 
tleman retired,  and  in  the  morning  no  trace  of  her  was  to  be 
found.  There  is  every  reason  to  fear  that  she  plunged  into 
the  river,  and  found  a  voluntary  grave." 

Robert  kept  his  wild  black  eyes  fastened  on  the  captain's 
face,  as  with  a  feeling  but  deliberate  manner,  he  related  the 
melancholy  facts ;  but,  at  the  words  a  voluntary  grave,  relax- 
ing his  hold  suddenly,  he  staggered  back,  and  would  have 
fallen,  had  not  the  captain  sustained  him  in  his  arms.  The 
eyes  of  the  unhappy  young  man  closed,  and  a  stream  of  blood, 
welling  from  his  lips,  covered  his  neckcloth  and  vest  with 
crimson  stains.     A  scene  of  indescribable  confusion   insued. 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  197 

for  the  boat  was  crowded  with  people,  who  had  entered  from 
the  wharf,  to  greet  their  friends,  or  to  attend  to  subjects  of 
business.  By  a  fortunate  coincidence,  the  first  physician  who 
was  found,  was  the  same  who  had  attended  Robert  at  Mr. 
Carlcton's,  and  he  recognised  his  former  patient.  It  was  with 
difficulty  he  stanched  the  flowing  blood,  or  roused  him  from 
the  insensibility  in  which  he  had  fallen.  He  saw  it  was  a 
much  more  dangerous  attack  than  the  former  one,  and  that 
his  life  hung  on  a  frail  dependence.  Despatching  a  messen- 
ger to  Mr.  Carleton  to  inform  him  of  the  event,  he  walked 
by  the  side  of  the  litter,  on  which  the  young  man  was  slowly 
and  gently  borne,  counting  his  faint  and  wavering  pulse,  fear- 
ful lest  every  beating  should  be  the  last.  With  what  feelings 
Emily  beheld  the  pale  and  blood-stained  figure  of  Robert 
Graham,  brought  thus  suddenly  to  her  door,  and  heard  the 
cause  of  his  deadly  hemorrhage,  it  would  be  difficult  to  de- 
scribe. The  captain  of  the  Red  Rover,  who  had  assisted  in 
bearing  the  litter,  and  who  felt  deeply  interested  in  the  fate 
of  the  young  man,  related  to  her  the  supposed  death  of  the 
young  girl,  whom  she  identified  at  once  as  her  childhood's 
friend.  Emily  loved  Linda  too  truly,  and  had  loved  her  too 
long,  not  to  listen  with  agony  to  these  details.  Terrible  must 
have  been  the  trials  that  had  driven  her,  in  frenzy,  to  seek  the 
grave  of  the  suicide ;  and  in  the  bitterness  of  her  heart  she 
prayed  that  retribution.  Heaven's  righteous  retribution,  might 
fall  on  the  mercenary,  arbitrary,  and  cruel  woman,  who  had 
forced  her  to  desperation. 

^' And  is  not  that  retribution  already  begun  V  thought  she, 
as  she  bent  her  weeping  eyes  on  the  almost  lifeless  form  of 
Robert,  on  whose  damp,  white  brow  and  ashy  lips,  death 
seemed  to  have  set  his  signet-seal.  "  This  blow  will  reach 
her  heart,  hard  and  stony  as  it  is."  ^ 

Mr.  Carleton  spoke  of  writing  to  Mrs.  Walton,  and  inform 
ing  her  of  the  situation  of  her  son. 


198  LINDA;    OR,    THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

^'  Oh,  Edmund — I  cannot  bear  the  sight  of  that  woman," 
replied  Emily,  shuddering.  "  She  has  destroyed  my  friend. 
She  is  not  worthy  to  be  treated  as  a  mother.  She  has  dese- 
crated the  sacred  name.'' 

^'But  still  she  is  his  mother;  and  the  world  might  judge 
ns  harshly,  Emily,  if  we  suffered  the  son  to  die  a  lingering 
death  in  our  own  house,  without  warning  her  of  his  condition. 
Whatever  may  be  her  offences,  and  I  believe  them  many,  they 
will  not  absolve  us  from  the  performance  of  duty.'' 

'^  You  are  right,"  sighed  Emily.  "  You  always  are.  But 
I  feel  as  if  those  horrid  white  eyes  would  dry  up  my  heart's 
blood.  How  can  I  receive  as  my  guest  the  murderer  of  my 
friend?" 

Mr.  Carleton  wrote,  and  Robert  lingered  day  after  day,  in 
a  faint  and  languishing  state.  Still  the  physician  cherished 
hopes  of  his  recovery,  if  he  were  permitted  to  remain  in  per- 
fect quietude*.  Over  the  darkened  chamber  in  which  he  lay 
brooded  the  stillness  of  death,  interrupted  only  by  those  whis- 
pered accents  and  stilly  steps  that  breathe  and  fall  so  gently 
round  the  bed  of  sickness. 

One  morning  as  Emily  sat  by  the  bedside,  believing  him 
asleep,  he  turned  towards  her,  drew  back  the  curtain  and  held 
out  his  feeble  hand. 

^^  You  are  very  kind,"  said  he,  in  a  low  voice.  "Indeed,  I 
wish  you  had  been  less  tender  of  my  life.  I  do  not  wish  to 
Hve." 

"  You  must  not  talk,"  replied  Emily.  "  The  doctor  has  for- 
bidden the  slightest  exertion.  Remain  quiet  a  few  days 
onger,  and  you  will  soon  be  well." 

"  Hark,"  cried  Robert,  a  sudden  fire  kindling  in  his  sunken 
eyes,  "whose  voice  is  that?  Let  her  not  come  near  me.  I 
will  not  see  her,  I  never  will  see  her  again.  Away,  and  tell 
her  so  " 

Emily  started.     She  thought  she  distinguished  the  voice  of 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  199 

Mrs.  Walton  in  the  room  below.  If  its  tones  had  thrown 
Robert  into  such  violent  agitation,  her  presence  would  be  still 
more  dangerous,  and,  fearful  of  the  consequences  that  might 
ensue  if  she  were  suffered  to  enter  his  room,  she  hastened 
down  stairs,  and  met  the  step-mother  of  Linda  in  the  act  of 
ascending. 

"  Come  in  this  room,  madam,"  cried  Emily,  trying  to  hold 
down  her  swelling  heart,  "  you  cannot  go  up  now.'^ 

''  I  want  to  go  to  my  son,"  she  exclaimed.  "  I  must  see 
him.     I  must  see  him  immediately." 

"  Indeed  you  cannot,  madam,"  replied  Emily,  in  a  more 
resolute  tone.  "  The  doctor  has  forbidden  any  one  to  ap- 
proach him  but  those  who  nurse  him.  The  slightest  agita- 
tion would  cost  him  his  life." 

"  Who  should  nurse  him  but  his  own  mother  ?  Who  shall 
keep  me  from  my  own  son?"  and  she  again  turned  towards 
the  stairs. 

"  I,  madam,"  said  Emily,  placing  herself  before  the  door, 
so  as  to  impede  her  crossing  the  threshold.  "  Your  son^s  life 
has  been  committed  to  my  charge  by  a  watchful  physician, 
and  I  will  not  see  it  endangered.  Robert  himself  has  com- 
missioned me  to  tell  you  that  your  presence  would  be  insup- 
portable to  him." 

It  must  be  acknowledged  that  when  Emily  uttered  the  last 
words,  she  felt  a  kind  of  vindictive  pleasure  in  wounding  the 
pitiless  woman  where  alone  she  was  vulnerable.  But  she 
could  not  help  softening  a  little  when  she  saw  her  haid  fea- 
tures working  with  anguish,  and  tears  forcing  their  way 
through  dry  and  withered  channels. 

"  My  son  shall  not  die  without  my  seeing  him,"  she  sobbed, 
while  her  body  rocked  to  and  fro  like  a  pine-tree  in  the  storm. 
*'  He  never  sent  me  such  a  cruel  message.  He  shall  not  die,'* 
she  continued  in  a  fierce  tone,  looking  hard  and  bitter  at 
Emily.     "  He  shall  not  die.     His  heart  shall  not  break  for 


200  LINDA;   OR;   THE   YOUJfQ   TILOT 

that  wretched  girl,  who  has  caused  us  all  such  misery  and 
ruin." 

"  Stop,"  cried  Emily,  her  large,  dark  eyes  flashing  with  in- 
dignation. '^Dare  not  accuse  that  injured,  innocent  creature 
of  your  own  crimes.  You  drove  her  by  your  unrelenting  per- 
Becution  from  the  home  that  should  have  been  the  shelter  of 
her  youth.  You  forced  her  to  the  desperate  act  of  plunging 
into  an  element  less  cold  than  your  own  icy  heart.  But  think 
not  her  spirit  lies  buried  in  her  watery  grave.  No  !  It  stands 
before  the  bar  of  its  Maker,  ready  to  denounce  you  as  a  mur- 
derer, at  the  judgment  day." 

"  Emily,  Emily  I"  cried  her  husband,  entering  at  this  mo- 
ment.    "  You  know  not  what  you  say." 

She  was  indeed  excited  beyond  the  power  of  self-control, 
but  the  loved  voice  of  her  husband  subdued  her  at  once. 

^^  Let  her  not  see  him,"  she  whispered,  '^  he  forbids  it.  li 
would  kill  him.     Reason  with  her,  Edmund,  I  cannot." 

Mr.  Carleton  tried  to  follow  Emily's  advice,  but  Mrs.  Wal- 
ton was  in  no  state  to  listen  to  reason.  After  suffering  days 
of  torturing  anxiety  at  home,  she  had  learned  of  Robert's 
route  before  the  arrival  of  Mr.  Carleton' s  letter,  and  com- 
menced her  journey.  During  her  passage,  she  had  heard  of 
the  reputed  death  of  Linda,  and  the  dangerous  sickness  of 
Robert,  and  the  gnawings  of  a  deathless  worm  began  to  eat 
into  her  heart.  ^'  Mother,  mother !  this  is  your  work,"  kept 
ringing  in  her  ears.  She  felt  the  clenching  hand  upon  her 
shoulder,  the  blazing  eyes  burning  on  her  soul.  She  remem- 
bered, too,  the  words  of  Linda, — ^'  I  would  sooner  exchange 
these  sad-coloured  robes  for  my  grave-clothes,  than  put  on  the 
wedding  finery  you  have  purchased ;"  and  conscience  brought 
before  her  the  image  of  that  fair  young  form  lying  in  the  sad- 
coloured  robes,  which  proved  its  grave-clothes,  below  the 
gurgling  waters ;  its  beautiful  ringlets  matted  with  saud,  and 
itd  cheeks  empurpled  by  a  death  of  violence. 


OP  THE  BELLE  CREOLE.  201 

'^  I  must  see  my  son,"  -was  the  reiterated  reply  to  all  Mr. 
Carleton's  persuasion  and  arguments;  and  pitying  the  wretched 
woman,  he  promised  that  she  should  see  him  when  he  slept, 
if  she  would  refrain  from  any  manifestation  of  feeling  that 
might  endanger  his  life.  He  urged  her  to  seek  rest  and  re- 
freshment herself,  for  she  was  evidently  exhausted  for  want  of 
both. 

It  was  not  till  hours  after  her  arrival,  that  Mr.  Carleton 
ventured  to  fulfil  his  promise,  but  Robert  having  fallen  into  a 
deep  and  tranquil  sleep,  the  effect  of  an  anodyne  given  to 
quiet  his  agitated  nerves,  he  thought  it  the  most  favourable 
moment  to  admit  her.  Slowly  and  with  trembling  steps  she 
approached  the  bed,  on  which  the  one  idol  of  her  soul  lay  ex- 
tended, with  a  ghastly  pallidness  and  corpse-like  rigidity  of 
attitude  appalling  to  the  eye.  The  loss  of  so  much  blood 
had  given  his  complexion  that  cold,  waxen  appearance  peculiar 
to  the  dead,  and  this  pallor  was  mournfully  contrasted  by  the 
heavy  masses  of  black  hair  that  fell  back  from  his  marble 
brow.  The  eyes  from  which  the  fiery  soul  was  wont  to 
sparkle  and  burn  were  peacefully  closed;  and  as  the  long 
lashes  swept  the  colourless  cheeks,  they  shed  over  the  whole 
countenance  an  air  of  gentleness  and  sadness  inexpressibly 
touching.  His  pale  hands  were  folded  across  his  breast.  It  is 
no  wonder  his  mother  thought  she  was  gazing  on  a  corpse. 

^^  He  is  dead  V  she  screamed,  "  he  is  dead  I"  and  struggling 
with  Mr.  Carleton,  she  attempted  to  throw  herself  on  his  body. 
Awakened  by  the  wild  shriek  from  his  death-like  lethargy, 
Kobert  started,  and  tried  to  rise  on  his  elbow. 

"  Oh,  Robert !  Robert  I"  she  cried,  breaking  violently  from 
Mr.  Carleton's  grasp,  and  sinking  on  her  knees,  she  wrapped 
her  arms  round  her  son.  "They  tried  to  keep  me  from  you. 
They  would  not  let  me  come.  But  you  live.  I  have  found 
you,  my  son,  my  son  !  I  never  will  leave  you  more.*' 

"  Away  !"  cried  he,  tossing  his  arms  wildly  above  his  head, 


202  LINDA;   OR;    THE   TOUNG   PILOT 

his  cjes  kindling  with  maniac  frenzy.  "  You  are  no  mother 
of  mine.  I  disown  you  for  ever.  You  made  me  what  I  am — 
your  co-murderer  and  fellow-labourer  in  cruelty  and  guilt.  I 
loved  her,  and  would  have  saved  her  from  myself,  but  you 
would  not  let  me ;  you  dragged  me  with  you  to  the  gulf  of 
perdition  ;  and  when,  through  all  eternity,  I  am  sinking  lower, 
and  lower,  and  lower,  I  will  cry  into  the  ear  of  the  Almighty, 
'  It  was  a  mother's  hand  that  plunged  me  here,  a  mother  who 
cursed  her  son.' " 

As  with  supernatural  strength,  Eobert  poured  out  this  fear- 
ful denunciation,  his  mother's  arms  gradually  relaxed  their 
hold,  her  features  began  to  writhe  like  a  scroll  in  the  flames, 
and  she  fell  back  in  violent  convulsions.  The  eyes  of  the 
young  man  followed  while  they  bore  her  distorted  figure  from 
the  apartment,  then  sinking  back  upon  his  pillow,  the  red 
stream  forced  from  its  natural  channel  by  the  strong  hand  of 
passion  again  oozed  from  his  lips. 

"  This  is  dreadful,''  exclaimed  the  doctor,  when,  called  to 
the  bedside,  he  counted  with  anxious  heart  his  patient's  lan- 
guid pulse.  "My  positive  commands  have  been  disobeyed, 
and  I  can  no  longer  assume  the  responsibility  of  his  life.  No- 
thing short  of  a  miracle  can  save  him  now." 

"  Have  I  killed  her  ?"  whispered  Robert,  opening  his  dim 
«yes. 

"  No,  no,  she  is  better.  She  is  not  in  danger.  Compose 
yourself.  For  Mrs.  Carleton's  sake,  if  not  for  your  own.  She 
is  well  nigh  in  a  state  of  distraction  herself." 

Robert  gave  a  faint  pressure  of  the  doctor's  hand,  in  token 
of  acquiescence,  and  once  more  all  was  quietude  and  stillness. 
Mrs.  Walton,  after  passing  from  one  terrible  spasm  to  another, 
at  length  sunk  into  a  comatose  state,  in  which  she  lay  for 
many  hours.  When  roused  from  this  torpor,  she  showed  no 
consciousness  of  the  past,  and  evinced  no  desire  to  be  with 
her  sou.     Whcuevor  his  name  was  mentioned,  she  was  seized 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  203 

with  1  nervous  trembling,  as  if  her  fibres  were  still  quiverino' 
from  his  filial  curse.  Emily,  who  could  not  hel^D  pitjin-^-  the 
wretched  woman,  saw  that  every  necessary  care  and  attention 
were  bestowed  upon  her,  though  her  individual  kindnesses 
were  lavished  upon  Kobert.  Again  the  hopes  of  the  physician 
revived,  who,  to  guard  his  patient  more  efi'ectually  from  in- 
trusion, had  taken  up  his  abode  at  Mr.  Carleton's,  and  slept 
in  the  same  room. 

There  was  another  gentleman  visiting  at  Mr.  Carleton's, 
^\ho  manifested  a  deep  and  increasing  interest  in  the  young 
invalid.  He  was  a  clergyman  of  the  name  of  Rayner,  a  dis- 
ciple of  Wesley,  and  imbued  with  all  the  fervour  and  zeal 
which  characterize  the  sect  to  which  he  belonged.  He  had 
known  Emily  from  childhood ;  and,  being  a  particular  friend 
of  her  father,  was  invited  to  make  her  house  his  home  durino^ 
a  visit  to  the  city.  Emily  felt  as  if  she  would  have  sunk  un- 
der the  cares  and  anxieties  gathering  over  her,  were  it  not  for 
the  pious  counsels  and  sustaining  prayers  of  this  excellent 
man. 

One  night  Robert  awoke  from  a  deep  sleep,  with  a  low 
murmuring  in  his  ears.  By  the  faint  light  of  the  lamp  burn- 
ing in  a  distant  part  of  the  room,  he  saw  a  figure  kneeling 
near  his  bed-side,  with  head  gently  thrown  back  and  hands 
clasped  together,  raised  in  the  attitude  of  supplication. 

"Father  of  mercies!^'  uttered  a  low,  deep,  solemn  voice, 
"  I  ask  not  for  this  young  man  long  life,  but  life  for  ever- 
more." The  lifted  hands  slowly  drooped ;  the  head  bent  for- 
ward and  rested  upon  them  ;  there  was  silence  a  few  moments. 
"Oh!  thou  friend  of  sinners!"  continued  the  voice;  but  now 
its  deep  tones  faltered — "  forgive  his  sins  !  Thou  who  didst 
hush  the  raging  billows  with  thy  divine  breath,  speak  peaco 
to  this  troubled  heart,  and  make  it  a  temple  meet  for  thy 
glorious  presence." 
^gain  the  bowed  head  leaned  on  the  supporting  hands,  and 


204  LINDA;    OR,    THE   YOUNG  PILOT 

notliing  broke  the  silence  but  the  sighs  of  the  supplicant,  and 
the  breathings  of  him  for  whom  those  prayers  were  offered. 
Robert  lay,  unwilling  to  break,  by  a  word,  the  holy  spell  that 
bound  his  senses.  The  kneeling  figui-e,  but  dimly  seen  by  the 
twilight-rays  of  the  distant  lamp,  with  the  long,  dark  hair 
meekly  parted  on  the  serene,  religious  brow — the  low,  solemn 
accents,  breathing  up  fervent  orisons  for  him,  touched  him 
with  feelings  never  known  before.  All  his  past  life,  concen- 
trated in  one  dark,  stormy  scene,  rose  before  him  with  appal- 
ling distinctness.  His  -prayerless,  godless  course,  from  his 
tyrannical  selfish  childhood,  wild  passionate  youth,  to  the 
tempestuous  morning  of  manhood,  passed  like  the  phantas- 
magoria of  a  dream  before  the  awakening  eye  of  conscience. 
Eternity,  which  always  seemed  a  mighty  shadow  rolling  at  an 
immense  distance,  ever  receding  and  often  melting  away  in  the 
mist  of  time,  appeared  a  tremendous  reality  in  the  midst  of 
vanishing  shadows,  on  which  was  stamped,  in  blazing  cha- 
racters, the  name  of  a  forgotten  Grod. 

"  You  have  prayed  for  me,"  said  he  to  the  minister,  ex- 
tending his  feeble  hand.  "  Man  of  God,  teach  me  to  pray, 
for  my  soul  is  sick  with  the  burden  of  its  sins." 

The  good  and  pious  Rayner  wept  with  joy  as  these  words 
fell  from  the  lips  of  the  invalid.  From  that  moment  there 
was  a  sacred  bond  of  sympathy  between  the  two,  that  drew 
them  closer  and  closer  to  each  other,  and  many  a  scene  passed 
within  the  walls  of  that  sick  chamber  that  the  angels  of  hea- 
ven witnessed  with  raptui-e.  A  miracle,  too,  seemed  wrought 
on  the  languishing  frame  of  the  young  man.  Youth,  and  a 
naturally  powerful  constitution,  after  struggling  long  with  tlie 
debilitating  influence  of  disease,  were  at  last  triumphant,  and 
Robert  rose  from  what  was  supposed  his  bed  of  death. 

As  soon  as  he  was  permitted  to  converse,  he  sent  fur  his 
mother,  and  asked  her  forgiveness  for  his  violence  with  the 
gentleness  and  humility  of  childhood.     She  appeared  but  lit- 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  205 

tie  moved.  Indeed,  her  countenance  had  worn  a  stupid,  apa- 
thetic look  ever  since  it  was  seen  writhing  in  those  terrible 
convulsions.  Her  memory  seemed  shattered.  If  she  wanted 
to  recollect  any  thing,  she  would  put  her  hand  to  her  head 
and  look  round  her  with  a  bewildered  air.  The  only  wish  she 
expressed  was  to  be  at  home — a  wish  in  which  Eobert  united, 
as  Mr.  Rayner  had  promised  to  accompany  him. 

'  Leave  me  not,"  he  cried  ;  "  friend  of  my  soul,  leave  me 
not,  lest,  with  returning  health,  passion  resume  its  unhallowed 
influence  over  my  heart.  Remain  with  me  till  my  now  un- 
steady steps  have  learned  to  walk  in  the  narrow  path  they 
have  so  lately  entered.  Every  earthly  hope  is  buried  in  the 
grave  of  Linda ;  but  a  holy  flame  is  kindled  from  her  ashes, 
that  shall  burn  with  undecaying  fervour,  till,  through  infinite 
mercy,  I  may  meet  her  angel-spirit  in  the  world  above." 


206  LINDA}    OR;  THE  YOUNG   PILOT 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

And  where  is  Roland  Lee,  the  young  and  gallant  pilot  of 
the  Belle  Creole  ? 

We  will  go  back  a  little  to  record  an  incident  which  oc- 
curred to  him  the  very  evening  he  parted  from  Linda,  at 
Mrs.  Carleton's. 

When  he  arrived  at  his  own  room,  he  found  a  note  request- 
ing him  to  repair  to  the  Mansion  House  to  meet  an  individual 
whose  infirmities  prevented  him  from  calling  on  him.  It  was 
signed  by  the  name  of  Hunly,  a  name  strange  to  his  ears ; 
but  he  did  not  hesitate  to  comply  with  the  invitation,  and 
soon  he  was  ushered  into  the  chamber,  where  ]Mr.  Hunly  re- 
ceived him,  reclining  on  a  sofa,  his  hands  and  wrists  bandaged 
with  linen,  and  a  swathing  band,  also  passing  over  one  eye, 
surrounded  his  head. 

^^  One  of  the  greatest  privations  I  now  suffer,"  said  the 
gentleman,  rising  on  his  elbow  and  motioning  Roland  to  a 
chair,  "  is  my  inability  to  offer  my  hand,  in  token  of  gratitude, 
to  one  who  is  the  preserver  of  my  life." 

Roland  recalled  the  moment  when,  passing  the  burning 
wreck  of  the  Belle  Creole,  he  had  rescued  a  scalded,  drowning, 
moaning  being,  and  bore  him  in  safety  to  the  opposite  shore, 
and  he  was  able  to  identify  the  sufferer  with  the  man  before 
him. 

'^Xt  is  not  until  within  a  few  days,"  continued  Mr.  Hunly, 
*'  that  I  have  been  in  a  situation  to  think  clearly,  so  intense 
and  unintermitted  have  been  my  sufferings.  But  I  have  now 
justified  hopes  of  recovery,  though  I  shall  probably  lose  for 
ever  the  use  of  my  right  eye  and  of  my  left  hand.  Had  it 
not  been  for  you,  I  should  have  lost  life  itself.     I  have  been 


OP   THE  BELLE   CREOLE.  207 

inquiriii^  for  days  after  my  deliverer,  and  it  was  not  till  this 
evening  I  learned  where  be  was  to  be  found." 

Roland  expressed  the  pleasure  he  felt  in  meeting  with  one 
who,  he  feared,  had  died  in  protracted  agonies,  in  animated 
terms. 

"  I  thank  you,  sir,"  said  he,  as  if  on  him  the  obligation 
rested,  ^^  for  remembering  me,  and  making  me  so  happy  as 
to  know  that  your  life  has  been  preserved ;  for,  indeed,  it  is 
an  unexpecttid  happiness." 

"  I  trust,"  said  Mr.  Hunly,  his  countenance,  disfigured  ag 
it  was,  beaming  with  benevolent  interest — "  I  hope  you  will 
not  deem  me  actuated  by  impertinent  curiosity,  if  I  ask  you 
whether  you  intend  to  continue  in  your  present  situation,  and 
what  your  prospects  and  dependencies  are  ?" 

"  I  have  nothing  to  depend  upon  but  my  own  energies," 
replied  Roland,  the  ingenuous  blood  rushing  to  his  cheek  and 
brow.  ^'I  love  the  water,  and  would  have  sought  my  fortune 
at  sea,  but  I  could  not  leave  a  widowed  mother  sorrowing  at 
home.  As  the  best  substitute  for  the  ocean,  I  have  chosen  the 
father  of  ancient  waters  as  my  theatre  of  action,  and  I  hope 
yet,"  he  added,  with  one  of  those  smiles  which  gave  such 
an  irresistible  charm  to  Roland's  face — "  I  hope  yet  to  tread 
one  of  its  floating  palaces  with  the  step  of  a  master." 

"  You  mean  the  owner,  as  well  as  the  master,"  said  Mr. 
Hunly,  raising  himself  to  an  upright  position  on  the  sofa. 

"  Yes,  even  that  I  aspire  to,  though  it  will  probably  be 
many  years  before  my  hopes  are  realized.  But  I  am  very 
young,  and  with  youth,  health,  strength,  and  sanguine  tem- 
perament and  a  buoyant  spirit,  I  feel  as  if  I  had  an  inheritance 
direct  from  the  Almighty,  at  compound  interest,  too,  which 
will  increase  in  value  as  time  passes  on." 

"  You  have,  young  man,"  answered  the  invalid,  with  em 
phasis,  "the  best  inheritance  in  the  world.     I  had  rather  a 
son  of  mine,  if  I  still  possessed  such  a  blessing,  should  start 


208  LINDA;    OR,  THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

in  life  with  such  a  capital  than  the  largest  fortune  of  the 
South.  But  there  was  a  young  girl,"  he  added,  "  who  was 
your  companion,  in  whom  I  felt  deeply  interested.  Though 
I  could  not  see  in  those  hours  of  agony,  there  was  something 
in  the  sweet,  pitying  tones  of  her  voice  that  I  never  can  for- 
get. She  tore  her  handkerchief  and  yours,  too,  in  bandages, 
and  bound  up  my  bleeding  hands  with  such  a  soft  and  gentle 
touch  it  seemed  to  mitigate  my  excruciating  pangs.  Is  she 
your  sister  ?" 

"  No,  sir,''  replied  Roland,  his  voice  trembling  with  emo- 
tion ',  "  she  is  one  whom  I  was  so  blessed  as  to  save  from  the 
wreck.  Her  father  perished  in  the  river  after  passing  through 
the  dreadful  element  of  fire." 

"Is  she  poor?" 

"  No,  sir ;  a  wealthy  heiress." 

"  Indeed !"  cried  Mr.  Hunly,  with  a  pleasant  smile. 
*'I  don't  think  she  could  give  a  better  proof  of  her  gra- 
titude, than  to  give  herself  and  fortune  to  her  young  pre- 
server." 

"  I  should  scorn  to  take  advantage  of  her  gratitude,  even 
if  such  a  thing  were  possible,"  said  Roland,  with  a  dash  of 
haughtiness  in  his  manner,  that  did  not  lower  him  in  Mr. 
Ilunly's  estimation. 

"  You  are  right — you  are  right,"  said  Roland's  new  friend. 
^'  I  like  your  spirit.  But  it  seems  to  me,  if  I  were  a  young 
heiress,  I  could  give  you  myself  and  fortune,  from  a  more 
powerful  motive  than  gratitude,  and  feel  that  I  was  conferring 
no  favour.  But  I  do  hope  you  will  not  scorn  every  ofi"ering 
made  by  a  grateful  heart,  for  I  shall  never  be  satisfied  till  I 
have  done  something  for  him  who  redeemed  me  from  certain 
destruction,  and  lavished  upon  me  those  tender  cares  which 
were  necessary  for  the  continuance  of  my  life." 

"  Do  not,  I  entreat,  sir,  speak  of  repaying  me  for  such  an 
act     I  should  have  been  a  monster  if  I  could  have  sufi'ered 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  209 

a  human  being  to  perish,  whom  I  had  the  power  to  relieve. 
I  am  more  than  repaid  by  the  pleasure  of  this  moment/' 

^'  But  I  am  rich.  I  could  almost  do  any  thing  for  your 
advancement,  without  impoverishing  myself.'' 

^^ Thank  you,  a  thousand  times,  sir,  for  the  generous  wish" 
cried  Roland,  involuntarily  extending  his  hand,  forgetting  he 
could  not  grasp  that  of  the  invalid ;  ^^  but  let  the  deeds  be 
mine." 

^^  I  reside  on  the  banks  of  the  Mississippi,"  said  Mr.  Hunly, 
after  a  pause.  ^'  You  will  find  my  direction  on  the  card  lying 
on  the  mantel-piece.  Please  take  it,  and  put  it  in  your  pocket- 
book.  And  when  you  have  leisure,  you  must  come  and  see 
me.  I  wish  I  had  a  daughter  for  you,  but  as  I  have  the  mis- 
fortune to  be  a  childless  man,  you  must  allow  me  to  cherish  a 
fatherly  interest  in  your  welfare.  And  when  you  see  that 
sweet-voiced  young  lady,  tell  her  the  blessing  of  one  who  was 
ready  to  perish  shall  "ever  rest  upon  her." 

Roland  remained  till  a  late  hour,  pleased  with  the  frank 
and  cordial  manners  of  his  new  friend. 

"  Farewell,  my  young  friend,"  said  Mr.  Hunly,  when  Ro- 
land rose  to  depart ;  "  as  soon  as  I  am  able  to  travel,  I  shall 
return  to  my  plantation,  where  I  hope  soon  to  welcome  you. 
In  the  mean  time,  if  you  should  be  in  any  sudden  emergency, 
or  require  any  assistance,  call  on  my  agent  in  New  Orleans, 
whose  name  you  will  find  on  the  back  of  my  card.  I  feel  an 
interest  in  you,  beyond  that  inspired  by  personal  obligation. 
I  had  one  son,  who,  had  he  lived,  would  have  been  about 
your  age.  Had  Heaven  spared  his  life,  and  made  him  resem- 
bling you,  my  yearning  heart  would  have  asked  no  more.  1 
cannot  ofl"er  you  this  wounded  hand,  but  take  with  you  my 
grateful  remembrance,  my  best  wishes,  and  most  fervent 
prayers.'' 

As  Roland,  much  moved,  bade  him  farewell,  and  was  about 
to  close  th«  door,  Mr.  Hunly  called  him  once  again. 


210  LINDA  ;    OR;  THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

^'  Don't  forget  my  message  to  my  sweet-voiced  little  nurs-' 
I  shall  expect  to  see  her  by  your  side,  one  of  these  days,  in 
your  floating  palace,  on  the  father  of  ancient  waters." 

"  May  yoi*!"  words  be  prophetic  V  said  Roland,  with  a  bright 
smile,  and  while  returning  to  his  lodgings,  he  repeated  them 
ao^ain  and  again  to  himself,  and  the  inspiration  of  hope  glad- 
dened his  spirit  and  warmed  his  heart. 

Behold  him,  at  length,  launched  on  the  bosom  of  the  noble 
stream  to  which  his  youthful  eyes  have  long  been  turned! 
Though  in  a  subordinate  station,  he  wears  that  aspect  of  com- 
mand which  speaks  the  "  right  divine"  to  rule.  Ladies,  who 
have  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  young  pilot,  like  to  walk  the 
hurricane  deck,  and  many  a  bright  glance  is  turned  to  the 
green-railed  enclosure  where  he  watches  the  guiding  wheel. 
He  always  appears  in  the  dress  of  a  gentleman,  and  his  looks 
and  manners  are  those  of  Nature's  noblemen.  They  do  not 
know  that  youth,  beauty,  and  wealth,  wreathed  in  a  beauteous 
garland,  have  twined  around  his  heart  involuntary  folds,  like 
the  vine  clinging  to  the  protecting  tree.  They  do  not  know 
that  he  is  already  the  hero  of  a  pure  heart's  history,  and  that 
a  pair  of  eyes,  bright  as  heaven's  own  gems,  are  lifted  nightly 
to  the  sky,  to  worship,  with  oriental  devotion,  the  star  conse- 
crated to  his  remembrance. 

Full  and  high  were  the  turbid  waters  of  the  Mississippi, 
and  as  the  boat  floated  majestically  on  its  surface,  it  seemed 
borne  above  the  level  of  the  surrounding  country.  At  unequal 
distances  from  the  shore,  was  seen  the  embankment  or  levce^ 
still  wearing  a  greenish  hue,  though  no  longer  brilliant  with 
the  emerald  green  of  summer.  The  meadows,  too,  so  rich 
and  luxuriant  at  an  earlier  season,  still  rolled  in  their  grassy 
covering,  while  here  and  there  a  magnificent  live-oak,  clad  in 
perennial  verdure,  relieved  the  continuity  of  the  scene.  It 
was  picturesque,  the  sight  of  the  horsemen  and  carriages,  just 
Recn  winding  along  the  road  above  the  levee,  like  the  heads 


OP   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  '     211 

of  the  Forty  Thieves,  in  the  grand  melo-dramatic  spectacle 
taken  from  that  dazzling  creation  of  oriental  genius,  the  Ara- 
bian Nights.  Large  sugar  plantations  stretched  along  the 
shore,  and  the  long,  stately,  regular  rows  of  cane,  running 
perpendicular  to  the  river,  seemed  to  open  and  close,  as  the 
vessel  glided  swiftly  by.  Rising,  like  a  lofty  Egyptian  obe- 
lisk, from  the  roof  of  a  broad,  low,  white  building,  appeared 
the  immense  chimney  of  the  sugar-house,  from  which  volumes 
of  wreathing  smoke  curled  beautifully  on  the  dark  blue  sky. 
The  sons  of  the  Granite  Hills,  who  had  never  travelled  in 
these  regions,  and  beheld,  for  the  first  time,  those  double  rows 
of  snow-white  cottages,  with  neat  pillared  porticoes,  separated 
by  grassy  streets,  shaded  on  either  side  by  beautiful  china- 
trees,  would  learn,  with  astonishment,  that  they  were  the 
dwellings  of  slaves,  who  they  are  too  prone  to  believe  are  no 
better  provided  with  a  home  than  the  fowls  of  the  air  and 
the  beasts  of  the  field.  In  that  neat  embowered  residence 
resides  the  overseer  of  the  African  labourers,  who,  with  the 
eye  of  a  task-master,  directs  their  movements  and  portions  out 
their  food.  But  whose  magnificent  edifice  is  that,  with  white 
massy  columns  extending  on  every  side,  supporting  a  double 
piazza  ?  This  was  the  question  that  Roland  asked,  as  his  eye 
ran  over  the  ample  plantation  and  noble  appurtenances,  near 
which  the  princely  structure  rose.  ^'It  belonged  to  Mr. 
Hunly,''  was  the  answer;  "a  gentleman  who  came  very  near 
perishing  in  the  wreck  of  the  Belle  Creole.''  Roland's  heart 
swelled  at  the  thought,  that,  under  Providence,  he  had  been 
the  means  of  saving  the  master  of  this  splendid  habitation, 
that  he  might  enjoy  yet  longer  the  blessings  a  bounteous 
Heaven  had  so  liberally  bestowed  upon  him.  He  gazed  with 
additional  interest  on  the  scene.  Through  the  open  windows 
he  could  see  the  gorgeous  folds  of  the  crimson  curtains, 
glimpses  of  the  costly  furniture,  and  rich  wrought  carpeting. 
But  the  most  beautiful  feature  of  the  scene  was  the  garden 


212  LINDA ;   OR,  THE  TOUN?f  PILOT 

fronting  the  mansion,  with  its  enamelled  plats  and  grareful 
terraces,  surrounded  by  a  snowy  railing,  whose  architecture 
must  have  been  directed  by  poetic  taste.  Stretching  between 
this  and  the  river,  that  here  swept  in  a  magnijficent  bend,  was 
a  green  sward,  ornamented  by  double  avenues  of  pecan-trees, 
whose  light,  wind-swept  branches  interlaced  each  other,  and 
imprisoned  the  sunbeams  that  played  amidst  the  leaves.  Re- 
posing beneath  the  shade  of  the  broad-spreading  live-oaks,  in 
the  neighbouring  meadows,  lay  the  sleek,  indolent-looking 
cattle,  the  domestic  monarchs  of  the  rural  princip-*lity. 

^'Mr.  Hunly,^'  continued  the  gentleman  who  had  first 
spoken  to  Roland,  ^'  is  one  of  the  noblest,  most  liberal- 
hearted  men  of  the  South.  He  is  one  of  the  kindest  masters 
in  the  universe,  and  his  slaves  may  well  rise  up  and  call  him 
blessed,  as  I  have  no  doubt  they  will  on  the  last  day.  He 
makes  no  show  of  his  generosity,  but  it  flows  in  living  streams, 
making  glad  the  poor  and  needy  in  the  reach  of  his  influence.'* 

^'It  would  be  a  fine  thing  to  be  the  son  of  such  a  mun,'' 
thought  Roland,  remembering  his  parting  words  :  ^'  but  I  am 
glad  to  have  the  honour  of  calling  him  friend.  Linda  !  will 
his  prophecy  indeed  be  fulfilled  V 

Week  after  week  passed  away,  and  the  Evening  Star  swept 
on  her  upward  or  downward  course,  and  naught  occurred 
worthy  of  record,  till  one  morning,  just  after  a  brilliant  sun- 
rise, Roland  again  beheld  the  majestic  dome  of  St.  Charles 
and  the  lofty  spire  of  St.  Patrick  rising  on  the  eye,  illumined 
with  the  rosy  gold  of  morning,  while  interminable  rows  of 
buildings  stretching  below,  looked  like  so  many  vassals  wait- 
ing in  attendant  lines  on  these  lordly  and  sun-clad  potentates 
Following  the  graceful  bend  of  the  river,  which  here  curved 
in  a  crescent  line,  giving  its  name  to  the  city  located  on  its 
banks,  the  boat  approached  the  wharf,  where  the  representa- 
tives of  earth's  varying  nations  were  promiscuously  assembled. 
The  animated  and  elastic-limbed  Frenchman,  the  ruddy  and 


OP   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  213 

sturdy-framed  Englishman,  the  sanguine  Irishman,  the  phleg- 
matic and  thoughtful  German,  the  yellow-haired  Scotchman, 
the  dark-eyed  Creole,  and  the  ebon-skinned  African,  all  min- 
gled there,  like  the  party-coloured  leaves  of  an  autumnal 
forest. 

As  Roland  sprang  on  the  wooden  platform  on  which  the 
oat  was  discharging  its  heavy  freight,  he  was  tempted  to  close 
his  ears  with  his  hands,  to  shut  out  the  Label  sounds  of  so 
many  different  languages,  assailing  him  on  every  side.  He 
happened  to  stand  near  a  very  peculiar-looking  man,  whose 
characteristic  traits  were  oblique  glancing  eyes,  and  fiery,  brist- 
ling hair.  Just  at  this  moment,  a  newsboy  came  along  with 
a  large  bundle  of  papers,  on  which  the  ink  was  scarcely  dried. 
Roland  purchased  one  of  these,  that  he  might  have  something 
to  abstract  his  mind  from  the  motley  group  around  him. 
Carelessly  opening  the  damp  sheet,  his  eye  glanced  over  the 
columns,  when  suddenly  it  was  arrested,  and  his  cheek  and 
lips  turned  the  hue  of  clay.  Unconsciously  grasping  the 
arm  of  the  stranger,  he  exclaimed,  "  Almighty  Father !  can 
this  be  true  ?" 

The  red-locked  individual,  whose  eye  had  followed  Roland's, 
and  rested  on  the  same  article,  struggled  to  release  himself, 
looking  from  one  side  to  the  other  in  evident  perturbation. 
^'  I  know  nothing  about  it,  nothing  at  all,"  he  cried ;  '^  why 
io  you  ask  me  ?  Very  shocking  thing,  very  shocking,  indeed." 

Roland  noticed  not,  when  the  wily  Scotchman,  sliding  from 
his  hold,  plunged  into  the  thickest  of  the  crowd.  Still  his 
glazed  and  burning  eyes  were  fixed  on  that  fatal  paragraph, 
that  seemed  written  in  characters  of  fire.  It  referred  to  the 
mysterious  disappearance  and  supposed  death  of  a  young  lady 
on  board  the  Red  Rover,  whose  name  was  ascertained  to  be — ■ 
Linda  Walton.  It  described  also  the  singular  personal  ap- 
pearance of  the  gentleman  who  was  her  companion. 

*'  It  was  he,"  exclaimed  Roland.     "  It  was  he  whose  anu 


214  LINDA;   OR,   THE  YDUNQ  PILOT 

I  grasped ;"  and  darting  like  a  madman  into  the  midst  of  t^ 
throng,  he  looked  on  the  right  and  the  left  for  the  red-haired 
Btranger,  who  had  eluded  his  grasp.  In  vain  he  pressed  for' 
ward  and  sent  his  frenzied  glances  through  that  human  forest, 
till,  panting,  suffocating,  scarcely  able  to  breathe,  he  rushed 
back  to  the  boat,  and  shutting  himself  in  his  room,  he  locked 
the  door  and  threw  himself  reeling  on  the  bed.  Long  he  lay- 
in  a  state  resembling  stupefaction,  stunned,  benumbed  by  the 
suddenness  of  the  blow ;  but  as  the  blood  gradually  receded 
from  his  hot  and  oppressed  brain,  and  he  was  able  to  think  of 
the  intelligence  that  had  threatened  to  dethrone  his  intellect, 
he  could  not,  he  would  not  believe  it. 

"'No,  no,"  cried  he,  "she  never  would  have  destroyed  herself. 
She  loved  me  too  well  to  inflict  upon  me  such  a  bitter  curse. 
This  is  rumour,  falsehood.  It  is  not,  cannot  be  true.  By  the 
deathless  love  that  burns  in  this  throbbing  heart, — by  the  hope 
that  keeps  me  from  perishing,  I  feel,  I  know  she  lives." 

But  while  he  uttered  these  words,  his  clenching  hands  and 
scalding  tears  belied  the  truth  of  the  asseveration.  Yes  !  the 
bold,  brave  Roland,  smitten  to  the  hearths  core,  as  the  convic- 
tion forced  itself  upon  him  that  she  must  be  lost,  gave  way  to 
a  burst  of  anguish  that  shook  the  couch  on  which  he  lay,  and 
convulsed  his  frame  with  ague-like  paroxysms.  All  day  he 
remained  in  his  lonely  berth,  refusing  to  answer  the  knocks 
and  calls  at  his  door,  for  it  seemed  sacrilege  to  him  for  human 
eyes  to  see  the  depth  of  his  sorrow.  It  was  not  until  the 
next  morning,  when  the  voice  of  his  captain  called  his  name, 
in  a  clear,  commanding  accent,  that  he  came  forth,  ready  to 
take  his  station  at  the  helm.  The  captain  recoiled  at  the  sight 
of  his  blood-shot  eyes  and  ashy  complexion. 

"Roland  Lee,"  said  he,  taking  his  feverish  hand;  "you 
ire  ill.     Another  must  take  your  place  at  the  helm." 

Roland  bowed,  pressed  his  hand,  drew  his  hat  over  his  eyes, 
ind  passed  out  in  silence.    In  silence  he  sought  his  accustomed 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  215 

position,  and  looking  out  once  more  on  that  dark  element,  the 
object  of  his  boyish  enthusiasm,  cold  shudders  ran  through 
his  veins.  Gracefully  the  Evening  Star  swept  round  the  cres- 
cent arch,  commencing  her  watery  course,  and  beautifully  the 
foam  dashed  against  her  sides  :  but  Roland  saw  in  every  crested 
wave,  only  an  image  of  the  cold  pall  that  mantled  the  bosom 
of  Linda ;  in  the  murmuring  of  the  waters,  he  heard  nothing 
but  her  dirge,  and  where,  a  short  time  before,  he  had  witnessed 
beauty  and  magnificence,  he  now  beheld  naught  but  desola- 
tion and  death. 

"  I  cannot  give  thee  up,  my  beloved,"  he  cried,  in  sad  com- 
munings with  his  own  spirit.  "  I  will  seek  thee  in  the  waters, 
I  will  seek  thee  in  the  wilderness,  nor  resign  thee  till  I  find 
thou  hast  made  thy  grave  beneath  the  cold  dashing  of  the  one 
or  the  falling  leaves  of  the  other." 


CHAPTER  XVn. 


Linda  not  only  found  rest,  but  comfort  and  kindness  in  the 
cabin  of  her  Indian  friends.  Tuscarora,  her  nocturnal  guide, 
and  Naimuna  his  wife,  were  both  civilized.  In  his  youth  he 
attended  school  with  the  sons  of  the  white  men,  and  was  taught 
to  worship  the  God  of  the  Bible,  but  he  could  not  subdue  his 
love  for  the  free,  roving  life  of  the  Indian.  He  returned  to 
the  wilderness,  accompanied  by  a  young  wife,  who  panted  like 
him  for  a  home  in  the  forest,  where  she  could  live  unfettered 
by  the  artificial  restraints  of  civilized  life.  But  they  were 
known  and  respected  by  the  white  race.  The  hunter,  weary 
from  the  chase,  loved  to  rest  in  the  cottage  of  Tuscarora. 
The  wanderer  sought  refuge  under  his  roof,  secure  of  a  wel- 
come  and  a  shelter,  and  the  youth  who  wanted  to  learn  tho 


216  LINDA ;   OR,  THE   YOUNQ  PILOT 

track  of  the  deer,  or  the  place  where  the  wild  turkeys  hid,  was 
sure  to  ask  the  services  of  the  friendly  Indian. 

Linda  was  ushered  into  a  more  comfortable  apartment  than 
the  one  where  she  was  laid  on  her  bed  of  furs. 

"  You  were  cold  and  faint/^  said  Naimuna,  "  and  we  feared 
to  put  you  where  there  was  no  fire  to  warm  you.  You  looked 
BO  pale  and  white,  I  counted  your  pulse  while  you  slept,  to 
see  if  there  was  life  in  your  veins.  Ah  !  you  must  have  suf- 
fered much,  to  be  alone  in  the  woods,  at  the  dark  hour  when 
you  met  Tuscarora." 

"  I  have  indeed  suffered  much,"  answered  Linda,  shudder- 
ing ;  "  and  had  it  not  been  for  your  husband,  I  should  have 
perished  in  the  woods." 

"  You  have  no  mother,"  said  the  gentle  Indian,  "  or  you 
would  not  have  been  left  to  wander." 

"  Alas — no  !  I  have  neither  father  nor  mother,  and  they 
who  should  protect  me  have  driven  me  from  my  home.  Think 
not  evil  of  me,  kind  woman,  because  I  came  here  a  friendless 
wanderer.  I  fled  from  one,"- — here  her  languid  eyes  kindled 
and  her  cheek  glowed, — "  one,  who  promised  to  guard  me,  but 
who  proved  false  to  his  trust.  Now,  that  I  can  reflect  calmly 
on  what  I  might  have  done,  I  know  I  could  have  sought  the 
protection  of  the  captain  in  whose  boat  we  sailed,  and  I  would 
have  been  safe,  but  I  was  wild  with  terror,  and  thought  only 
of  escaping  from  the  place  where  he  breathed.  I  have  friends 
who  would  seek  me  at  their  life's  peril,  did  they  know  where 
I  am,  but  when  will  they  find  me,  and  how  shall  I  make  known 
to  them  the  place  of  my  refuge  ?" 

^'  Remain  with  us,"  said  Naimuna,  "  till  they  leam  you  are 
n  the  home  of  Tuscarora.  You  shall  sleep  in  this  room  on 
a  bed  of  moss,  and  I  will  wait  upon  you  and  wash  your  linen 
in  the  clear  water  of  the  spring.  Tuscarora  has  fleet  horses 
that  can  carry  letters  to  your  friends.  There  isn't  a  path  frouj 
here  to  the  great  river  that  his  foot  has  not  trod." 


OP  THE  BELLE  CREOLE.  -         217 

''  You  are  kind,  you  are  good/'  cried  Linda,  pressing  the 
dark  hand  of  the  Indian  in  hers,  and  fixing  her  eyes,  moistened 
with  tears  of  gratitude,  on  her  mild  and  pensive  features. 
'^  I  know  you  do  not  deceive  me,  as  others  have  done.  I  was 
on  my  way  to  the  great  river,  for  my  kindred  live  upon  its 
shores.  If  Tuscarora  can  help  me  on  my  journey,  he  shall 
find  that  I  not  only  have  the  will  but  the  power  to  reward  him." 

"  Tuscarora  would  ask  no  reward,"  replied  Naimuna ;  "  he 
has  studied  the  great  book  of  the  white  man,  and  loves  to  do 
good,  because  it  makes  his  heart  feel  warm  and  light  in  his 
bosom." 

"  Oh,  warm  and  light  must  be  his  heart  this  morning  !"  ex- 
claimed Linda.  The  stately  tread  of  Tuscarora  was  now 
heard  in  the  cabin,  and  with  feelings  of  the  deepest  respect, 
as  well  as  gratitude,  she  greeted  the  Christian  Indian. 

He  was  clad  in  the  usual  garb  of  a  hunter,  and  instead  of 
the  single,  gallant  scalp-lock  which  distinguished  the  warlike 
chief  of  the  red  men,  his  long  black  hair,  glossy  and  unshorn, 
softened  the  stern  outline  of  a  face  marked  with  the  peculiar 
lineaments  of  his  race.  The  independent  spirit  of  the  wilder- 
ness, untamed  by  the  restraints  of  his  boyish  years,  shone  from 
his  quick -glancing  eye,  but  the  expression  of  placid  melan- 
choly lingering  round  the  mouth  reminded  one  of  the  wrongs 
and  degradation  of  his  once  lordly  nation.  He  was  one  of 
that  small  number  who  have  acquired  the  virtues  of  the  white 
man  without  his  vices,  for  he  looked  upon  strong  drink  with 
horror,  and  the  simple  word  of  Tuscarora  was  equivalent  to  a 
bond. 

When  Linda  told  him  of  the  locality  of  her  Louisianian 
home  and  her  anxiety  to  reach  it,  she  was  astonished  at  the 
map-like  distinctness  with  which  the  course  was  marked  on  hia 
memory.  He  knew  the  winding  of  every  stream,  the  path 
through  every  wood,  every  place  where  the  traveller  could  find 
nightly  rest;  in  short,  with  a  guide  like  him,  Linda  thought 


218  LINDA;   OR,   THE  YOUNG  PILOT 

every  rDugh  place  would  be  made  smooth^  and  every  intricate 
one  clear.  But  she  dared  not  ask  a  favour  so  immense,  for 
there  was  something  in  his  majestic  demeanor  that  forbade  her 
from  oifering  a  pecuniary  return.  Tuscarora's  penetrating  eye 
interpreted  her  anxious  and  embarrassed  countenance. 

"  I  will  guide  you  to  your  friends,"  said  he,  with  dignity, 
"  when  you  have  rested  awhile  with  Naimuna.  I  have  horses 
as  fleet  as  the  wind  and  gentle  as  the  moon.  If  the  white 
stranger  is  accustomed  to  the  bridle  and  the  rein,  she  will  be 
as  safe  on  the  steeds  of  Tuscarora  as  when  rocked  by  the 
breezes  to  sleep." 

^^  How  shall  I  thank  you  for  your  generous  offer  ?"  asked 
Linda,  charmed  with  the  metaphorical  language  of  the  Indian. 
" How  can  I  make  such  a  demand  on  your  time?  and  how  can 
Naimuna  be  left  so  long  alone  V 

Tuscarora  smiled.  "  The  wife  of  a  hunter  fears  not  a  lonely 
hearth.  I  have  business  myself  where  the  Red  River  pours 
its  waters  into  the  Mississippi,  and  if  the  white  stranger  did  not 
accompany  me,  I  should  traverse  the  woods  and  the  hills  alone. 
"We  shall  have  no  rain  to  delay  us,  for  when  the  moon  was  no 
larger  than  a  silver  bow  it  hung  drooping  in  the  sky,  and  the 
horn  of  the  hunter  could  not  rest  upon  its  curve.  It  is  now 
large  and  round,  and  will  light  us  on  our  journey." 

*'0h,  then  let  us  start  to-morrow,"  cried  Linda,  "for  here  I 
dread  pursuit.  The  rustling  of  the  leaves  make  me  tremble. 
The  sudden  barking  of  the  dog  causes  my  heart  to  stand  still." 

"  You  are  safe  with  Tuscarora  wherever  you  are,"  answered 
the  Indian,  proudly.  "  The  white  man  lives  not  who  could 
Btand  the  stroke  of  this  arm,  when  raised  in  defence  of  the 
weak.  But  I  must  first  go  to  the  city ;  and  it  will  take  the 
time  between  the  rising  and  setting  of  two  suns  to  go  and  re- 
turn. I  must  provide  for  Naimuna  during  my  absence,  and 
the  white  stranger  must  have  a  saddle  to  cmdle  her,  before 
fib?  mounts  the  hunter's  steed." 


OF  THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  219 

Linda  started.  She  could  accompany  him  to  Mobile.  She 
could  place  herself  under  the  protection  of  Mr.  Carleton  and 
Emily,  and  thus  escape  a  long  and  perilous  journey.  But 
would  she  be  safe  there  ?  No.  Robert  and  her  step-mother 
would  pursue  her  there,  and  perhaps  the  terrible  Scotchman. 
She  dared  not  hazard  it.  Better  to  brave  unknown  dangers, 
than  expose  herself  again  to  those  she  had  already  suffered  so 
much  to  avoid.  She  regretted  the  necessity  of  delay,  but  felt 
that  it  was  in  vain  to  repine.  She  could  not,  however,  allow 
Tuscarora  to  incur  an  actual  expense  for  her  accommodation, 
as  her  purse  was  still  in  her  possession ;  being  in  the  bundle 
she  had  sufficient  presence  of  mind  to  bear  away  in  her  flight. 
Blushing,  she  placed  it  in  his  hand,  and  requested  him  to  pur- 
chase whatever  was  necessary  for  their  journey. 

"  It  is  well,"  said  he,  with  grave  dignity.  ^^  I  have  furs 
sufficient  to  purchase  all,  but  I  will  not  refuse  the  request  of 
the  maiden.'^ 

He  left  the  cabin,  and  in  a  few  moments  he  appeared 
mounted  on  a  shining  bay-horse,  whose  flowing  mane  and  long 
sweeping  tail  had  never  been  shorn  of  their  native  luxuriance. 
Swift  as  an  arrow  from  his  own  bow,  he  darted  from  her  sight, 
and  the  trees  of  the  forest  concealed  his  erect  and  stately 
figure.  Thanks  to  the  instructions  of  Robert,  Linda  was  a 
dauntless  horsewoman,  or  she  would  have  trembled  at  the 
thought  of  the  equestrian  journey  before  her.  Her  heart  sunk 
at  the  certainty  of  passing  two  days  in  her  present  situation, 
though  the  kind  Naimuna  did  all  she  could  to  ''  cheer  her 
pensive  guest."  She  fulfilled  her  promise,  and  washed  her 
travel-soiled  garments,  and  made  them  as  white  and  smooth  as 
if  they  came  from  the  hands  of  an  experienced  laundress. 
When  night  came,  and  the  pine-knots  blazed  in  the  chimney, 
Linda,  remembering  the  terrors  of  the  preceding  night,  sat 
pale  and  trembling,  filled  with  indefinite  alarm. 

''Be  not  afraid,"  said  Naimuna,  ''no  one  would  dare  to 
14 


220  LINDA;    OR,    THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

molest  the  cabin  of  Tiiscarora,  and  if  they  dared  they  would 
not  wish  to  do  it,  for  he  is  kind  to  all,  and  who  would  wish  to 
harm  the  poor  man's  friend  V 

Linda  tried  to  smile,  but  her  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  she 
drew  her  ringlets  over  them  to  hide  them  from  the  gentle 
savage. 

^^  Let  me  brush  these  beautiful  locks,"  said  Naimuna,  tak- 
ing Linda's  brush  that  lay  upon  the  table,  and  passing  it 
softly  over  her  drooping  head.  "  When  Tuscarora  is  weary 
from  the  chase,  he  loves  to  have  me  comb  his  long  black  hair, 
for  it  makes  sleep  come  down  on  his  eyelids." 

Linda  assented  by  another  tearful  smile,  and  Naimuna, 
kneeling  on  a  low  seat,  began  to  smooth  the  soft  tresses  of 
golden  brown,  and  twist  them  in  shining  coils  round  her 
tawiy  fingers.  Seen  by  the  ruddy  light  that  illumined  every 
chink  and  corner  of  that  log-cabin,  they  would  have  made  a 
beautiful  subject  for  the  painter's  canvas.  The  hair  and  eyes 
of  Naimuna  were  of  gipsy  blackness,  and  round  the  former 
was  twisted  a  kerchief  dyed  with  those  brilliant  colours  which 
the  children  of  the  forest  love  to  gaze  upon.  Her  smooth, 
bronze  cheek  almost  touched  the  alabaster  brow  of  Linda, 
whose  eyes,  half-veiled  by  their  long  lashes,  and  surcharged 
with  mournful  memories,  were  fixed  upon  the  blaze.  Her 
mourning  dress  was  exchanged  for  a  white  night-wrapper, 
which  falling  loosely  from  her  neck  revealed  its  unsunned 
enow.  Her  fair  hands  were  clasped  over  her  knees,  and  no- 
thing could  be  more  child-like  and  graceful  than  the  listless- 
nes",  and  abandonment  of  her  attitude.  As  Naimuna  continued 
to  \  urnish  her  thick,  clustering  hair,  her  senses  yielded  to  the 
flodhing  influence  of  the  gentle  passes,  and  her  eyes  gradually 
c!o/'mg,  her  head  bent  lower  and  lower,  till  it  rested  on  the 
«h</alder  of  the  Indian.  Naimuna  looked  down  upon  her,  as 
paelay  like  aweary  child  slumbering  on  its  nurse's  arm,  with 
fi'elv4Ags  resembling  worship.     She  longed  to  kiss  the  rosy  lips 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE. 


221 


whose  pure  breath  stole  so  softly  over  lier  cheek,  but  there  was 
such  an  angelic  innocence  diffused  over  her  face  that  she  would 
have  deemed  it  profanation  in  one  of  darker  hue  to  approach 
them.  Long  she  remained  in  her  kneeling  position,  unwilling 
to  move,  lest  she  should  disturb  the  slumbers  she  loved  to 
watch,  when,  by  an  involuntary  movement,  she  startled  tha 
sleeper,  who  lifted  her  head  and  looked  round  her  with  a  wild 
and  frightened  expression.  When  she  realized  the  kindness 
that  had  pillowed  and  guarded  her  sleep,  she  said  : 

"  Forgive  me  for  having  wearied  you  so  much.  I  did  not 
know  that  I  was  falling  asleep,  or  I  should  have  sought  my 

bed." 

"  I  never  should  be  weary  while  you  rested  on  me,"  replied 
Naimuna.  "  I  have  been  thinking,  and  wondering  how  any 
one  could  be  so  cruel  as  to  grieve  you,  and  make  you  a  wan- 
derer here." 

"  Some  have  been  cruel  in  their  hate,  and  others  in  their 
love,"  sighed  Linda,  "  but  I  forgive  them  for  both.  Do  you 
fear  when  Tuscarora  is  absent  ?" 

"  No,"  answered  Naimuna,  with  a  smile.  "  Why  should  1 
fear  ?  I  should  not  be  safe  in  his  presence  if  God  did  not 
take  care  of  me." 

The  simple,  confiding  faith  of  the  Indian  rebuked  the  ap- 
prehensions of  Linda,  and,  lying  down  on  hor  mossj  couch,  ehe 
slept  tranquilly  till  the  breaking  day. 


222  LINDA  j    OR;    THE   YOUNG    PILOT 


CHAPTER  XYHL 

The  morning  arrived  for  Linda's  departure.  Tusearora  ap- 
peared, holding  in  each  hand  a  bridle  rein,  which  passed  over 
the  necks  of  two  superb-looking  animals — one,  the  noble  bay 
which  bore  him  to  Mobile,  the  other  a  dappled  gray,  furnished 
with  the  side-saddle  he  had  purchased  for  the  "white  stran- 
ger's" use.  Tusearora  had  told  her  to  be  ready  by  the  time 
the  shadows  began  to  roll  from  the  hills,  and  she  rose  by  the 
light  of  the  moon,  so  fearful  was  she  of  detaining  her  guide. 

As  Tusearora  stood  between  the  two  steeds,  their  long  wav- 
ing manes  sweeping  against  him — his  long,  black  hair  flowing 
as  free  and  luxuriant — there  was  something  so  commanding  in 
his  attitude,  so  striking  in  his  appearance,  Linda  could  not 
help  gazing  upon  him  with  admiration.  Proud  of  the  guardian- 
ship he  was  about  to  assume,  he  had  donned  something  of  his 
aboriginal  costume,  which  set  off  to  great  advantage  his  erect  and 
symmetrical  figure.  A  rich  wampum  girdle  belted  his  waist,  and 
moccasins,  wrought  with  stained  porcupine  quills,  encased  his 
feet.  A  hunter's  pouch,  variegated  with  the  same  brilliant 
colours,  swung  from  his  shoulder,  and  in  his  left  hand  he 
grasped  a  rifle. 

Linda  stood  on  the  threshold  holding  the  hand  of  Naimuna, 
whose  soft,  black  eyes  were  brimming  with  tears. 

"  You  must  come  and  live  near  me  on  the  banks  of  the 
Mississippi,"  said  Linda.  "  When  I  once  find  a  home  of  my 
own,  I  want  to  gather  round  me  all  who  love  me  and  who 
have  been  kind.  You  have  been  more  than  kind,  and  for 
yuur  sake  I  shall  love  the  whole  Indian  race.  Indeed,  you 
must  come   to  Louisiana.     Tusearora  will   find  better  hunt- 


OP   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  223 

ing  grounds,  and,  if  you  should  ever  be  in  sorrow,  I  could 
then  repay,  in  some  measure,  the  cares  bestowed  on  me." 

"  If  Tuscarora  wills  it,  it  would  rejoice  my  heart,"  replied 
Naimuna.  Tuscarora,  who  had  listened  in  silence,  now  spoke, 
looking  round  on  the  woods  and  then  upward  to  the  sky :  ^'  I 
am  willing — I  care  not  where  my  cabin  stands,  if  it  is  built 
in  the  midst  of  the  woods,  not  far  from  the  murmur  of  the 
waters ;  I  care  not  for  the  boards  that  shelter  me — I  live  in 
the  house  of  the  great  God  wherever  I  am.  His  house  is  very 
large,  and  there  is  room  in  it  for  the  white  man  and  the  red 
man,  too." 

"  We  shall  meet  again,  kind  Naimuna,"  cried  Linda,  press- 
ing her  hand  and  turning  to  Tuscarora.  He  leaned  his  rifle 
against  his  horse,  and  lifted  her  lightly  on  his  dappled  gray. 

"  I  will  return,  Naimuna,  before  another  moon  has  filled 
her  horn,"  said  Tuscarora,  looking  back  upon  her  as  he  wound 
into  the  path  where  the  pine  trees  locked  their  branches. 

Linda's  spirits  rose  with  the  rising  sun.  Its  rays  came  so 
cheerily  through  the  dark,  pillared  aisles  of  the  forest,  and 
the  clear,  morning  air  blew  so  freely  on  her  cheek,  that  the 
roses  came  back  to  it  with  the  freshness  of  vernal  bloom. 
She  loved  tc  ride  on  horseback ;  it  had  been  one  of  the  chief 
joys  of  her  childhood  to  accompany  Robert  in  his  excursions 
about  Pinegrove ;  but  she  never  knew  what  riding  was  till  she 
had  mounted  Tuscarora's  dappled  gray.  It  was,  indeed,  as 
he  had  described  it,  "  swift  as  the  wind  and  gentle  as  the 
moon." 

^'  Surely  I  need  not  fear,"  thought  she,  glancing  at  hei 
formidable-looking  guide ;  '^  bold,  indeed,  must  be  the  wretch 
who  would  attack  one  protected  by  such  a  guardian.  Me  is 
no  traitor.  Such  a  noble,  steadfast  mien  as  that  never  was  a 
cloak  to  treachery  and  deceit.  I  would  almost  as  soon  doubt 
the  truth  and  excellence  of  Roland  Lee  as  Tuscarora' s." 

Her  thoughts  went  out  into  the  futui-e,  and -in  'magina- 


224  LINDA;    OR,  THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

tion  she  built  herself  a  beautiful  borne  where  the  breezes  of 
the  great  river  could  fan  it,  and  she  wandered  in  its  bowers 
with  Roland  Lee  by  her  side,  the  household  god  of  her  dwell- 
ing ;  and  she  erected  a  lonely  cottage  in  the  neighbouring 
woods,  where  the  winds  roared  and  murmured,  and  the  voice 
of  the  waters  made  deep  sounds  in  the  night,  where  Tuscarora 
and  Naimuna  might  revel  in  the  freedom  and  exuberance  of 
nature. 

At  noon,  they  rested  near  a  welling  spring,  and,  seated  on  a 
mossy  rock  by  the  side  of  a  fallen  pine,  partook  of  the  re- 
freshments Naimuna  had  prepared.  Never  had  Linda  eaten 
with  such  a  zest.  The  pure,  bracing,  odorous  air  of  the  pine 
woods  gave  a  fine  edge  to  appetite,  and  nothing  could  be  more 
delicious  than  the  cold  water  gushing,  like  liquid  silver, 
through  the  fissure  of  the  rock. 

^^  I  think  I  shall  discard  tables  and  chairs  in  future,"  ex- 
claimed Linda,  with  a  gay  smile.  "  This  old  gray  trunk  looks 
80  antique,  and  no  velvet  could  be  so  rich  as  this  cushion  of 
moss.  As  for  knives  and  forks,  they  are  mere  absurdities; 
and  who  wants  a  glass  when  sitting  by  such  a  spring  as  this  ?'' 
And,  bending  from  her  rocky  seat,  she  stooped  to  meet  the 
gush  of  the  rill,  and  drank  freely  as  it  flowed. 

The  Indian  gazed  with  delight  on  his  beautiful,  young 
ward.  He  felt  the  charm  of  her  innocent  gayety  the  more, 
contracting,  as  it  did,  with  her  former  deep  sadness.  It 
showed,  too,  a  confidence  in  his  protection,  which  gratified  his 
pride.  He  felt  that  he  deserved  it;  but  he  had  not  expected 
such  p^;rfect  reliance  in  one  so  young  and  sensitive. 

"  G(A  is  good,"  said  he,  looking  round  with  a  grave  smile ; 
*^  but  iney  who  dwell  all  the  time  in  houses  do  not  know  how 
largo  the  great  Spirit  is.  They  do  not  know  how  large  their 
own  opirits  are.  When  I  was  a  boy,  I  had  to  stay  between 
brick  wall}-:  and  study  my  books,  and  they  tried  to  make  me 
think  how  much  happier  I  was  than  if  I  were  chasing  tho 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  225 

deer  in  the  woods,  or  hunting  the  birds  on  the  wing.  A  white 
man  took  me  from  my  father  when  he  was  sinking  in  the  kind 
of  shadows,  and  said  he  would  educate  me  as  his  own  son. 
He  was  kind,  and  I  loved  him ;  but  I  pined  for  my  forest 
home.  I  went  to  him,  and  said,  '  You  have  taught  me  many 
grand  and  curious  things,  and  I  thank  you.  You  have  in- 
structed me  to  look  for  a  more  glorious  heaven  than  the  hunting- 
grounds  of  my  fathers  ;  but  I  must  go  back  to  the  woods,  or 
I  die.  The  streets  are  too  narrow ;  the  houses  too  high ;  let 
me  go  and  worship  my  God  in  the  wilderness.'  The  good 
man  wept ;  but  he  suffered  me  to  depart.  He  now  sleeps  the 
great  sleep ;  but  I  sometimes  travel  far  away  to  his  grave, 
and,  listening  to  the  wind  sighing  through  the  long  grass, 
think  it  is  his  spirit  that  calls  me.'' 

"  You  are  grateful,  Tuscarora,"  said  Linda,  listening  with 
deepening  interest  to  his  grave  and  earnest  discourse  ;  "  and 
you  must  let  me  be  grateful,  too.  You  must  let  me  build 
you  a  house  after  your  own  model,  and  you  must  bring  Nai- 
muna  and  live  in  it,  that  I  may  see  you  and  bless  you  all  the 
days  of  my  life." 

"  I  have  thought  of  removing  to  the  shores  of  the  great 
river,  and  Naimuna  loves  the  white  stranger." 

Refreshed  and  inspirited,  Linda  continued  her  journey — 
her  confidence  in  her  Indian  friend  gathering  strength  with 
every  sentiment  he  uttered.  It  was  not  till  after  the  twilight 
began  to  fall  that  she  became  sensible  of  fatigue,  and  wished 
for  a  place  of  rest. 

^'  A  few  more  miles,  and  we  shall  stop  for  the  night,"  said 
Tuscarora.     '^  To-morrow  we  can  ride  into  the  moonlight." 

As  the  shadows  grew  deeper,  Linda  thought  she  heard  the 
sound  of  trampling  hoofs  behind.  They  gained  upon  her  ear, 
and,  looking  round,  she  perceived  a  horseman  directly  in  their 
track.  She  thought  only  of  the  detestable  Scotchman,  and 
urged  her  horse  into  a  more  rapid  motion.     But  the  faster 


226  LINDA;    OR,    THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

they  went,  the  faster  the  horseman  pursued,  till,  perfectly  ex- 
kiausted,  she  suffered  the  reins  to  fall  loosely  on  the  neck  of 
the  horse,  which,  becoming  weary,  immediately  slackened  its 
pace.  The  horseman  fell  into  a  slow  pace  also,  as  if  deter- 
mined to  bear  them  company.  She  was  ashamed  to  express 
her  fears  to  Tuscarora,  for  it  would  imply  a  doubt  of  his  pro- 
tection, and  she  rode  on  in  silence,  though  her  hands  were  as 
chill  as  ice,  and  she  could  hardly  retain  the  bridle  in  her 
grasp.  In  a  short  time,  a  bright  light  glimmered  on  the  eye, 
and  they  found  themselves  near  a  log-cabin,  whose  white- 
washed walls  and  broad  wings  promised  a  neat  and  comforta- 
ble resting-place.  Had  it  not  been  for  the  dreaded  horseman 
in  the  rear,  Linda's  heart  would  have  bounded  with  pleasure 
at  the  familiar  sounds  that  greeted  her  ear.  A  negro  was  sit- 
ting under  the  kitchen  porch,  playing  merrily  on  the  fiddle, 
while  half  a  dozen  black  children  were  dancing  all  over — the 
blaze  of  the  pine  knots  illuminating  the  whole  yard.  One 
little  negro  girl,  apart  from  the  rest,  all  alone  "  in  her  glory," 
was  singing  the  popular  African  song — ■ 

"  Snake  make  a  hoe-cake, 
Set  a  frog  to  mind  it,"  &c. 

As  the  horses  galloped  into  the  yard,  for  Tuscarora  loved 
to  make  an  impression,  the  dancing  and  music  ceased,  and  the 
children  gathered  to  gaze  upon  the  strangers.  When  the  In- 
dian lifted  Linda  from  her  saddle,  she  saw  the  stranger  who 
had  followed  them  dismount  also,  and  her  fears  vanished,  for 
he  was  tall  and  slender,  and  McCleod  was  short,  with  broad 
shoulders  and  sturdy  limbs.  With  a  joyous  spring,  she 
crossed  the  threshold,  and  entered  the  pine-lighted  room 
Untying  her  bonnet  and  shaking  back  her  wind-blown  tresses, 
nh*^  stood  a  moment  by  the  blazing  hearth,  grateful  and  happy 
that  she  had  not  encountered  the  face  of  her  enemy.  A  tall 
figure  entered,  but  it  was  not  the  lofty  form  of  Tuscarora. 
She  looked,  she  shaded  her  brow  with  her  hand,  then  spring 


OF   THE  BELLE   CREOLE.  227 

Jng  forward,  caught  the  stranger  by  both  hands,  and  exclaimed 
— "  Mr.  Longwood,  my  beloved  instructor !"  Iler  choking 
voice  could  not  articulate  another  word.  Overcome  by  ten 
thousand  emotions,  she  wept;  but,  amidst  fast  falling  tears, 
smiles  of  gladness  shone  like  April  sunbeams. 

^^0  puella  pulchrissima/'  cried  the  well-known  voice  of 
Aristides ;  "  and  do  I  behold  thee  once  again  ?  But  is  this 
the  little  girl  I  have  so  often  held  on  my  knee,  and  whose 
childish  eyes  looked  into  my  heart,  while  I  talked  to  her  of 
heavenly  things  ?  Contremiseo  tota  mente,  et  omnihus  artuhus — ■ 
I  am  agitated  in  my  whole  mind  and  in  every  limb,  as  Cicero 
feelingly  remarks." 

He  drew  Linda  where  the  full  effulgence  of  the  fire  fell 
upon  her  person,  and  twinkling  away  the  tears  that  gathered 
into  his  deep  gray  eyes,  perused  the  features  whose  juvenile 
outline  was  drawn  in  such  gentle  characters  on  his  memory. 
Linda  retained,  in  a  remarkable  degree,  that  dove-like  expres- 
sion peculiar  to  childhood,  and  as  her  bright  locks  were  stili 
unshorn  and  unbraided,  Aristides  found  no  difficulty  in  iden- 
tifying the  lovely  being  before  him  with  the  little  Linda  of 
Pine  Grove. 

"  How  well  you  look  !"  cried  Linda,  observing  with  delight 
that  his  cheeks  were  less  hollow,  and  his  eyes  less  sunken, 
than  when-  she  saw  him  last.  The  hectic  spot  no  longer 
burned  on  his  face,  and  his  frame  indicated  more  strength  by 
its  more  upright  carriage. 

"  The  Lord  has  been  merciful  to  me,"  answered  he.  "  I 
gained  health  in  a  milder  clime ;  though  for  a  long  time  I  was 
hastening  to  a  land  of  darkness  and  the  shadow  of  death,  aa 
Job  pathetically  expresses  it.  Yet,  even  when  I  was  sunk 
lowest  in  despondency  and  gloom,  the  pulse  of  life  grew 
stronger,  and  the  blood  began  to  flow  quicker  through  my 
veins.  Truly,  the  light  is  sweet,  and  it  is  a  pleasant  thing  to  6e- 
hold  the  sun  J  as  Solomon  pertinently  observes.     I  rejoice  that 


228  LINDA;    OR,  THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

I  am  permitted  once  more  to  beliold  thy  face,  0  virgo  carissi- 
ma,  else  had  I  willingly  laid  down  to  rest  in  Cuba's  wave- 
washed  isle.  Sed  omnes  una  manet  nox,  et  calcanda  semel 
via  led — there  remains  a  common  night  to  all,  and  the  way  of 
death  must  by  all  be  trod,  as  Horace  beautifully  remarks." 

"  But  why  have  you  not  written  to  us,  and  told  us  that  you 
uved,  and  that  you  had  returned  to  your  native  soil  ?" 

"  I  have  written  many  times,"  replied  Aristides,  *^  but,  re- 
ceiving no  answer,  thought  you  had  forgotten  your  old  teacher. 
Pulcis  et  umhra  sumus — we  are  dust  and  shade,  as  Horace 
sententiously  observes;  and  I  imagined  that  I  had  passed 
away  from  your  memory,  like  the  sand  blown  by  the  wind,  or 
the  cloud  before  the  breath  of  morning.  I  would  have  visited 
the  old  log  school-house,  when  two  years  ago  I  came  back  to 
my  native  land,  but  I  was  told  you  were  in  the  stranger's 
home;  and  again  I  heard  you  were  wedded  to  the  wild 
boy  who  was  the  companion  of  your  studies.  But  I  find  thee 
now,  my  dear  little  pupil  that  was,  pulcfiritiidine  eximia  foemi- 
Qia — a  woman  of  exquisite  beauty,  as  Cicero  gracefully  ex- 
presses it.  Whither  art  thou  going,  0  puclla  teuerrima,  far 
from  the  home  of  thy  youth  ?" 

This  sudden  question  came  home  to  the  heart  of  Linda,  and 
she  turned  away  her  head,  unable  to  speak. 

"Thou  hast  looked  upon  sorrow,"  said  he,  kindly  taking 
her  hand.     "  Thou  art  clad  in  a  mourning  garb." 

"I  will  tell  you  all  I  have  suffered — for  I  know  you  will 
sympathize  and  counsel  me,"  said  Linda ;  "  but  my  Indian 
friend  approaches.     I  will  wait  till  we  are  again  alone." 

When  Tuscarora  entered,  and  beheld  the  white  man  seated 
by  Linda  with  an  air  of  affectionate  ftimiliarity,  instead  of 
looking  upon  him  with  the  cold  eye  of  a  stranger,  he  walked 
straight  forward  and  took  him  by  the  extended  hand.  "Yon 
are  welcome,"  said  Tuscarora.  "  It  is  long  since  I  have  seei 
my  brother." 


OF   THE  BELLE   CREOLE.  229 

Linda  learned  with  pleasure  that  Aristides  and  Tuscarora 
were  known  to  each  other,  that  they  had  hunted  together  in 
the  woods,  and  that,  a  year  before,  he  had  passed  weeks  in  the 
cabin  of  Naimuna.  He  found  his  health  injured  by  the  se- 
dentary life  he  had  led,  and  the  physicians  prescribing  exer- 
cise in  the  open  air,  he  had  acquired  an  ardent  love  for  hunt- 
ing, strange  as  it  may  seem,  and  while  roaming  the  woods  he 
had  come  in  contact  with  Tuscarora,  whose  character  charmed 
his  pure  and  simple  tastes.  Having  received  a  legacy  from 
an  uncle  who  had  lately  died  in  Texas,  he  was  no  longer  com- 
pelled to  tax  his  mind  for  his  support,  and,  free  from  anxiety 
with  regard  to  the  future,  he  was  cultivating  health  and  cheer- 
fulness among  the  breezes  of  the  South.  Having  arrived  that 
morning  at  the  cabin  of  Tuscarora,  a  short  time  after  the  tra- 
vellers had  left,  and  having  learned  from  Naimuna  the  mission 
on  which  her  husband  was  gone,  he  at  once  determined  to  fol- 
low. A  beautiful,  unprotected  girl  by  the  name  of  Linda,  as 
described  by  Naimuna,  awoke  many  memories  in  his  heart. 
There  might  be  others  who  bore  the  same  name,  but  there  was 
but  one  Linda  to  him,  his  sweet  and  unforgotten  pupil. 

After  the  travellers  had  partaken  their  supper,  Tuscarora, 
with  true  delicacy  of  feeling,  left  the  friends  together,  that 
they  might  speak  unreservedly  of  the  past. 

Linda  found  she  had  a  difficult  task  to  perform.  To  justify 
herself  in  the  eyes  of  her  instructor  for  the  apparently  bold 
step  she  had  taken,  she  must  tell  all  her  persecutions,  her  suf- 
ferings and  fears.  Aristides  listened  with  unspeakable  inte- 
rest. He  sat  with  his  elbow  resting  on  his  knee,  his  head 
leaning  on  the  hollow  of  his  hand,  and  his  gray  eyes  riveted 
on  her  face  with  a  most  intense  expression.  Every  now  and 
then  he  would  lift  his  hands  and  ejaculate,  ^'  Ah!  virgo  in- 
felixV^  and  dashing  away  a  tear,  resume  his  attitude  of  deep 
attention.  But  when  she  came  to  the  base  treachery  of  the 
Scotchman,  his  indignation  knew  no  bounds.     He  started  from 


230  unda;  or,  the  young  riLOT 

his  cliair,  his  slender  frame  vibrated,  his  eyes  gleamed  darkly 
from  under  his  contracted  brows — "  Oh,  miserm  sortis — oh, 
thou  of  unhappy  fate !"  he  exclaimed ;  "  to  think  of  thy 
tender  youth  being  exposed  to  such  fearful  trials  !  But  ^  God 
tempers  the  wind  to  the  shorn  lamb/  as  the  feeling  Sterne 
hath  uttered.  His  eye  followed  thee  in  the  depth  of  the 
night-shades  and  the  labyrinths  of  the  forest.  0  lyuella 
dtdcissima,  my  heart  weeps  over  thy  sorrows  and  thy  injuries. 
Dux  foemina  facti — a  woman  the  leader  of  this  deed.  I  re- 
member her  well.  Her  phrenological  development  was  hi- 
deous— and  cruel  was  the  outline  of  her  white  brows." 

The  sympathy  of  Aristides  was  peculiarly  grateful  to  Linda, 
as  she  had  many  misgivings  as  to  the  propriety  of  the  steps 
she  had  taken  in  leaving  the  paternal  roof.  She  sometimes 
feared  that  even  Roland  would  condemn  her,  and  look  coldly 
on  the  wanderer,  doomed  to  such  strange  vicissitudes,  through 
what  he  might  deem  her  rashness  and  imprudence.  Had  she 
known  that  Robert  was  prostrate  on  a  bed  of  languishment, 
hovering  between  life  and  death  in  consequence  of  her  flight, 
bitter  indeed  would  have  been  her  anguish  and  self-reproach. 
When  she  retired  for  the  night,  it  was  with  feelings  of  heart- 
felt gratitude.  She  had  advanced  safely  thus  far  on  her  way, 
she  was  blest  with  another  protector,  for  Aristides  had  ex- 
pressed his  determination  to  accompany  her  to  her  journey's 
end.  In  her  excitement  at  this  unexpected  meeting,  she  had 
forgotten  her  fatigue,  and  while  preparing  for  rest,  she  warbled 
sweet  snatches  of  songs,  as  she  was  wont  to  do  in  blither  mo- 
ments. As  her  own  notes  died  softly  away,  she  heard  a  kind 
of  monotonous  chanting  in  the  yard,  and,  raising  the  window, 
she  saw  an  old  negro  woman  with  a  shawl  pinned  over  her 
ears,  sitting  near  the  kitchen  door,  in  the  light  of  the  fire, 
recking  backwards  and  forwards,  singing  in  a  broken,  tremu- 
lous, but  devout  tone,  the  favourite  hymn  of  the  negro  Chris- 
tian.     Many  a  time  had  Linda  heard  that  hymn  resounding 


OP   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  231 

from  her  faluer's  kitchen,  and  the  sounds  came  to  her  like  a 
di  eam  of  home  : — 

"  Where's  now  the  good  old  Daniel  ? 

Where's  now  the  good  old  Daniel  ? 
He  went  up  from  the  den  of  lions, 
He  went  up  from  the  den  of  lions, 

Safely  to  the  promised  land; 
There  he'll  sing  and  shout  hosanna. 
There  he'll  shout  and  sing  for  ever, 

Safely  in  the  promised  land." 

Thus  sung  the  ancient  sybil,  and  went  on  with  unwearied 
lungs  through  all  the  prophets  and  patriarchs,  depositing  them 
all  safely  in  the  promised  land.  The  good  old  3Ioses,  who  went 
up  from  the  (op  of  Neho — the  Hehreio  children,  who  went  up 
from  the  fiery  furnace — the  virgin  Ila^y,  who  went  up -/ram  the 
feet  of  Jesus — were  made  to  pass  through  the  same  process  of 
singing  and  shouting  forever;  and  every  time  the  burden  of 
the  hymn  quivered  on  her  tongue,  the  old  negress  shook  all 
over  with  inward  ecstasy  and  devotion.  Who  does  not  love  to 
hear  an  African  sing,  has  no  music  in  his  soul.  Who  does  not 
love  to  hear  from  their  lips  the  strains  familiar  to  his  child- 
hood, when  sitting  under  the  stranger's  roof,  has  no  feeling  in 
his  heart.  Linda  had  both  music  in  her  soul  and  feeling  in 
her  heart,  and  she  leaned  against  the  window,  swimming  on  a 
tide  of  memory,  till  the  songstress  had  disposed  of  all  the 
Scripture  worthies  in  that  country  of  green  fields  and  still 
waters  for  which  the  earth-worn  pilgrim  was  doubtless 
panting. 

With  the  dawn  of  day  the  travellers  were  on  their  journey, 
and  Linda,  now  doubly  guarded,  went  on  her  way  rejoicing. 
They  were  passing  through  a  monotonous  country,  and  nothing 
occurred  worthy  to  be  recorded  in  the  traveller's  diary. 

"  Is  it  not  mortifying,"  said  Linda,  turning  to  Aristides, 
just  as  the  sun  was  gilding  the  woods  with  his  mellow,  setting 
radiance,  "  that  a  young  damsel,  escorted  by  two  such  gallant 


232  LINDA;   OR,   THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

knights,  should  be  permitted  to  travel  in  such  unromantio 
safety  ?     No  adventure  to  excite,  no  danger  to  avoid  !" 

^'  I  love  to  see  that  merry  smile,"  replied  he ;  "  it  reminds 
me  of  days  that  are  past.  But  I  sometimes  feel  as  if,  when 
the  rays  are  softest  and  the  air  most  serene,  invisible  perils 
\7ere  waiting  to  destroy.  Let  me  not,  however,  bring  a 
shadow  over  the  sunshine  of  your  brow,  alas  !  too  often  clouded. 
Te  Tiilari  ammo  esse  valde  me  juvat — that  you  are  in  gay 
spirits  delights  me,  as  Cicero  pleasantly  remarks." 

^^  Hush  !"  exclaimed  Tuscarora,  catching  the  bridle  of  Linda 
so  suddenly  as  to  throw  her  horse  back  on  its  haunches.  "Ad- 
vance not  another  step,  or  you  perish." 

Scarcely  had  the  words  parted  from  his  lips,  when  a  girdled 
pine,  whose  tall,  blasted  trunk  rose  in  melancholy  majesty 
above  its  blackened  and  decaying  roots,  as  if  sustained  by  a 
single  fibre,  which  suddenly  snapped  as  the  ground  vibrated 
beneath  the  trampling  hoofs,  crashed,  stooped,  and  fell  directly 
in  their  path.  There  it  lay,  a  gigantic  ruin,  its  dry  branches 
quivering  like  the  limbs  of  a  dying  warrior  struck  down  on 
the  battle-field.  Linda's  nerveless  hands  dropped  the  reins, 
but  the  gentle  gray  attempted  not  to  move.  It  seemed  to  be 
contemplating  with  astonishment  and  awe  the  sudden  obstruc- 
tion that  impeded  its  way. 

"  I  felt  the  shadow  of  this  event  coming  across  the  setting 
sun,"  exclaimed  Tuscarora,  looking  solemnly  at  the  corpse  of 
this  monarch  of  the  forest. 

'^  Pestis  enim  tacitus  latet  aspera  sylvis — a  dreadful  danger 
lies  hidden  in  the  silent  woods,  as  Virgil  prophetically  hath 
said,"  remarked  Aristides,  the  ruling  passion  still  prevalent. 

"  How  were  you  warned  of  the  danger  ?"  asked  Linda  of 
Tuscarora.  "  Had  not  your  arm  arrested  mo  at  the  very  mo. 
ment,  I  should  have  been  crushed  under  that  fallen  trunk." 

"  I  saw  the  bark  move  over  the  wounded  part,  and  knew  ii 
was  the  last  struggle  of  life,"  answered  the  Indian      'M  ve 


OP  THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  233 

noticed,  too,  that  the  aged  tree  waits  till  the  sunset  hour  to  lie 
down  to  rest.  I  was  travelling  once,  and  just  as  the  last  beam 
of  day  went  out  in  the  west,  the  breath  of  the  Great  Spirit 
niov  «d  over  a  dead  pine,  and  it  fell,  crushing  the  horse  that 
bore  me.  It  struck  me,  too,  and  for  the  first  time  in  his  life 
the  arm  of  Tuscarora  was  weak." 

Thus  saying,  he  bounded  ovor  the  ruin,  and  his  companions 
followed.  They  went  on  with  quickened  pace,  but  Linda  gazed 
anxiously  on  every  girdled  trunk,  and  as  the  shades  deepened, 
they  appeared  like  threatening  spectres  frowning  by  the  way- 
side. The  imminent  danger  she  had  escaped  sobered  her  feel- 
ings, and  in  proportion  as  her  mind  became  less  elastic,  her 
body  grew  weary.  The  night  air  also  waxed  chill  and  damp, 
and  as  the  moon  did  not  rise  till  a  late  hour,  she  could  not 
hope  for  its  cheering  light.  She  had  heard  Tuscarora  say 
that  they  must  make  a  long  day's  journey  before  they  reached 
a  shelter,  and  that  it  was  a  rough,  uncultivated  place.  Once 
they  passed  an  encampment  in  the  woods,  and  brightly  the 
great  blaze  kindled  near  the  large  covered  wagons  shone  on 
the  eyes  of  the  travellers.  Half  a  dozen  white  men  and  wo- 
men were  seated  round  the  fire,  looking  as  wild  as  gipsies ; 
and  twice  as  many  children,  black  and  white,  mingled  together, 
were  scattered  about  in  various  picturesque  attitudes,  their 
faces  all  lit  up  with  resplendent  lustre,  and  their  eyes  shining 
out  like  so  many  stars.  Linda  looked  at  them  with  envy,  so 
bright  and  comfortable  they  appeared,  and  the  flavour  of  broil- 
ing bacon  that  greeted  most  fragrantly  their  olfactory  nerves, 
reminded  her  that  it  was  long  since  her  usual  supper  hour,  and 
that  ohe  was  not  only  weary,  but  hungry. 

"  Ubinam  gentium  sumus — where  on  earth  are  we  V  asked 
Aristides,  when  Tuscarora  suddenly  turned  towards  a  low,  di- 
lapidated-looking hut,  without  shade  or  railing,  and  appearing 
perfectly  uninhabited. 

^'  We  must  stop  here,"  replied  the  Indian,  ''  or  travel  many 


234  LINDA;    OR,   THE  YOUNG   PILOT 

miles  farther  in  darkness.  Our  young  sister  will  be  sick.  Slio 
is  not  like  the  hunter  that  knows  not  fatigue,  and  can  make 
bis  bed  of  his  saddle.  What  ho,  there  V  cried  he,  giving  a 
thundering  knock  at  the  door.  ''  We  want  supper  and  lodg- 
ings for  the  night/' 

There  was  a  lumbering,  shuffling  sound  within.  A  gleam 
of  light  was  seen  through  the  crevices  of  the  walls,  for  there 
were  no  glass  windows  to  be  illumined,  and  the  door  was 
opened  by  a  surly,  ill-dressed  man,  who  was  evidently  just 
awakened  from  sleep.  A  very  coarse,  slovenly-looking  woman, 
with  short,  tangled  hair,  was  sitting  on  the  side  of  the  bed, 
and  another  man,  dressed  in  a  hunter's  frock,  by  whose  side 
a  fierce,  shaggy  dog  was  crouching,  lay  extended  on  the  hearth. 
.Linda,  trembling  with  disgust  and  terror,  clung  to  the  arm  of 
Aristides. 

"  Let  us  not  stay  here,"  she  whispered ;  ^^  I  am  not  so 
weary  that  I  cannot  ride  much  farther.  The  moon  will  rise 
Boon.     Let  us  go." 

"  K  she  don't  want  to  stay,  she  needn't,"  grumbled  the 
man ;  "  but  there  ain't  another  house  for  twelve  miles,  and 
there's  a  big  creek  to  cross,  with  a  broken  bridge.  It's  a 
mighty  dangerous  place." 

"  We  will  stay,"  said  Tuscarora,  "  for  the  foot  of  the  gray 
horse  is  lame.  Have  a  fire  kindled  in  the  other  room  for  the 
white  stranger,  and  give  her  a  bed  to  sleep  on.  We  want 
supper,  too,  for  we  are  hungry  and  would  eat." 

The  woman  got  up  with  a  sulky  air,  and  taking  a  pine  torch 
f^om  the  chimney,  left  the  room.  The  man  went  towards  the 
chimney,  and  pushing  the  hunter  vigorously  with  his  feet, 

<'  Get  up,  you  rascal,"  cried  he,  ^'  and  take  your  long  legs 
out  of  the  way.     The  young  lady  wants  a  seat  by  the  fire." 

The  sleeping  man,  thus  rudely  roused,  uttered  a  shocking 
oath,  and,  rubbing  his  eyes,  glared  them  on  Linda  like  a  wak- 
ing wolf     The  dog,  whose  countenance  was  a  fac-simile  of 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  235 

his  master's,  rose  on  his  fore-paws,  and  began  a  fierce,  low 
growl ;  but  both  master  and  dog  retreated  from  the  fire,  leav- 
ing Linda  and  Aristides  in  possession  of  the  hearth,  through 
whose  broken  and  irregular  bricks  the  wind  rushed,  counter 
acting  the  warmth  of  the  blaze.  Aristides  drew  forward  a 
rough,  wooden  bench,  and  Linda  sunk  upon  it  with  a  deadly 
sickness  at  the  heart,  that  sent  a  cold  moisture  to  her  brow 
and  a  dim  mist  over  her  eyes.  He  beheld  with  the  tenderest 
compassion  her  pallid  face  and  drooping  form,  and  bending 
down  whispered  words  of  cheer  and  consolation.  "  '  Thou 
shalt  not  be  afraid  for  the  terror  by  night,  nor  for  the  arrow 
that  flieth  by  day ;'  ^  he  shall  give  his  angels  charge  over  thee, 
to  keep  thee  in  all  thy  ways,'  as  the  Psalmist  piously  ob- 
serves." 

In  the  mean  time,  preparations  for  supper  were  going  on  in  a 
style  congenial  to  the  appearance  of  the  inmates  of  the  habi- 
tation. The  woman,  who  answered  to  the  name  of  Dorcas, 
prepared  the  repast,  such  as  it  was,  for  there  were  no  negroes 
belonging  to  the  establishment.  Linda  would  have  given  half 
her  wealth  to  hear  the  notes,  "Snake  bake  a  hoe-cake/'  or 
the  more  solemn  strains  of  "  Good  old  Daniel,"  that  greeted 
her  ears  the  night  before.  When  called  to  the  table,  she  could 
not  eat.  Rashers  of  fat  bacon,  swimming  in  lard,  broiled 
chicken,  whose  dying  screeches  seemed  yet  echoing  through 
the  yard,  and  pieces  of  burnt  dough,  constituted  the  supper. 
She  drank  a  gourd  of  milk,  but  even  that  lost  its  relish  from 
the  dirty-looking,  dingy,  brown  vessel  which  contained  it. 

"  Our  young  sister,"  said  Tuscarora — Linda  was  glad  to 
hear  him  calling  her  by  a  more  afiectionate  name  than  the  icMte 
stranger — "  our  young  sister  does  not  eat.  Her  cheek  is  white, 
and  I  fear  her  heart  is  faint ;  she  will  be  refreshed  by  sleep, 
and  my  brother  also.  I  shall  sit  by  the  fii-e  and  think  of 
their  repose." 

"  There  is  no  need  of  that,"  said  the  man ;  "  you  can  have 
15 


2GG  LINDA  ;  OR,  THE  YOUNG  PILOT 

my  bed.     Dorcas  and  I  are  going  out  in  the  shed.     There  is 
a  plenty  good  place  there.'' 

"  Where  is  the  man  who  slept  by  the  hearth  with  his  dog  ?'' 
asked  the  Indian. 

"  He's  out  in  the  shed,  fast  asleep  agin,  I  warrant  you,"  was 
the  reply.  "  Little  of  a  bed  does  he  want.  Why,  he  could 
sleep  on  the  top  of  his  rifle." 

The  women  gave  a  hideous  grin  at  these  words,  and,  light- 
ing a  little,  dingy  candle,  oiFered  to  show  Linda  to  her  room. 
With  faltering  voice,  Linda  bade  her  companions  "  good-night," 
and  entered  an  apartment  to  which  the  dark,  raftered  room, 
where  her  step-mother  once  transferred  her,  was  a  palace. 

"  You  can  leave  me,  "  said  she,  mildly,  seeing  that  Dorcas 
lingered  in  her  room. 

^'  That's  a  mighty  fine  watch !"  said  the  woman,  as  Linda 
unwound  the  chain  from  her  neck  and  laid  it  on  the  table 
*'  There's  a  heap  of  gold  in  that  'ere  chain,  an't  they  ?" 

"  No  unusual  quantity,  I  believe,"  replied  Linda,  and  she 
could  not  forbear  smiling  at  her  look  of  stupid  admiration. 

"  Them  are  mighty  fine  things,  too,"  she  added,  as  Linda 
unclasped  the  bracelets  from  her  wrists.  They  were  a  gift  from 
Emily.  The  watch  was  the  last  present  her  father  bestowed. 
Precious  to  her  were  these  mementos,  and,  though  she  had 
left  all  superfluous  articles  behind,  she  had  not  forgotten  these 
tokens  of  love. 

"  You  must  be  powerful  rich,"  continued  Dorcas,  leaning 
her  elbows  on  the  table,  then,  squaring  her  broad  chin  on 
them,  she  stared  up  in  Linda's  face.  ^'  An't  you  got  a  heap 
of  money  with  you  ?  Where  are  you  going  to  'long  with 
that  big  Injun  and  t'other  odd-looking  man  ?" 

^'  I'm  going  a  long  journey  ;  but  I  am  very  tired,  and  would 
thank  you,  if  you  please,  to  retire,  and  let  me  sleep.  We 
SDUst  start  very  early  in  the  morning." 

"  Well,  I  don't  want  to  force  my  company  on  nobody," 


OF   THE   r>ELLE   CREOLE.  237 

oried  tlic  woman,  tossing  her  head.  "  Fm  as  good  as  some  folks, 
for  all  their  fine  watches  and  clasps  and  rings.  I  don't  want 
to  stay  here,  gracious  knows;  but  I'm  waiting  for  the  candle.'* 

^'1  can  put  it  out  myself,"  said  Linda,  with  unconscioua 
haughtiness,  for  the  coarse  familiarity  of  the  woman  disgusted 
and  offended  her.  The  woman  went  out,  slamming  the  door 
after  her,  and  Linda,  seeing  there  was  no  lock,  placed  the  table 
against  the  door,  and  a  small  trunk  which  she  found  in  the 
room  upon  the  table,  as  a  kind  of  barricade  against  intrusion. 

^'  I  will  not  undress,"  thought  she,  looking  with  a  shudder 
on  the  comfortless  bed,  with  its  coarse  woollen  cover  and 
brown  sheets.  "  I  will  spread  my  shawl  over  the  counter- 
pane and  lie  down  as  I  am.  Oh  !  that  the  gentle  Naimuna 
were  near  me,  instead  of  this  horrible  woman  !" 

Thinking  how  the  eyes  of  Dorcas  had  gloated  on  the  watch 
and  bracelets,  she  wound  the  chain  of  the  one  about  her  neck 
again,  and  clasped  the  other  on  her  wrists.  She  might  make 
an  excuse  to  enter  the  room  when  she  was  asleep,  and  steal 
them  from  her.  She  would  have  left  the  candle  burning, 
but  it  was  a  mere  snuff,  which  would  sink  down,  leaving  an 
unpleasant  odour.  When  she  extinguished  the  light,  she  was 
glad  to  see  the  moonbeams  streaming  in  through  the  apertures 
of  the  walls,  making  little  silver  bars  on  the  opposite  boards. 
She  lay  gazing  on  the  white,  glimmering  lines  till  they  seemed 
melting  in  one,  and  her  eyes  closed  in  sleep. 

Long  after  midnight,  she  was  awakened  by  some  one  open- 
ing her  door  very  cautiously  ;  but,  cautious  as  the  movements 
of  the  opener  were,  the  weight  against  it  made  it  grate  very 
harshly  on  its  hinges.  Starting,  she  leaned  forward,  and  saw 
by  the  flood  of  moonlight  rushing  in  through  the  door,  the 
figure  of  the  hunter,  who  slept  by  the  hearth,  accompanied  by 
the  woman.  The  latter  fumbled  about  the  table,  as  if  search  • 
ing  for  something. 

"  She's  hid  'em,"  whispered  she  tO  the  man,  "  or  may  bo 


238  LINDA;    OR;  THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

ehe's  got  tlieiu  on  agin.  I  see  her  put  'em  here.  But  hei 
money  is  in  that  bundle,  I  know.'* 

The  man  here  advanced  to  the  bed,  and  met  the  gaze  of 
Linda,  whose  eyes  were  fixed  with  that  kind  of  fascination 
which  draws  the  bird  into  the  jaws  of  the  serpent.  But,  as 
he  came  so  near,  the  hot  fumes  of  whisky  burning  in  his 
breath  were  perceptible  in  the  atmosphere.  She  sprang  upon 
her  feet  with  a  wild  and  piercing  shriek. 

"  Hollow  again,  and  I'll  dash  out  your  brains  against  the 
wall,'*  cried  the  man,  in  a  low,  harsh  voice,  grasping  her  arm 
with  the  force  of  a  vice.  ^'  I  want  nothing  but  your  watch 
and  money.  Grive  'em  to  me,  and  go  to  the  devil,  for  all  I 
care." 

Just  as  Linda  was  putting  her  trembling  hands  to  her 
neck,  in  answer  to  the  villain's  threat,  the  inner  door  burst 
through  with  a  loud  crash,  and  Tuscarora,  armed  with  his 
rifle,  stood  revealed  in  the  moonlight.  The  wrath  of  the  red 
man  glittered  in  his  eye. 

'^  Doer  of  a  white  man  I"  cried  Tuscarora.    ^^  Vile  coward  ! 

o 

I  spit  upon  you."  And,  advancing,  with  one  sweep  of  his 
powerful  arm,  he  felled  him  to  the  floor.  The  hunter,  who 
was  strong  and  fierce,  sprang  up  and  seized  the  Indian  by  the 
throat,  who  grappled  with  him  like  a  lion.  The  savage  na- 
ture of  Tuscarora  triumphed  in  this  strife,  and,  uttering  one 
of  those  yells  which  make  the  terrible  battle-cry  of  the  In- 
dian, he  dashed  his  adversary  against  the  wall,  and  planted 
nis  knee  on  his  breast.  Linda  saw,  but  heard  no  more.  Her 
benses  forsook  her  under  such  an  accumulation  of  horrors, 
and  she  was  spared  the  deadly  scene  that  ensued. 

When  she  recovered,  she  found  herself  supported  by  Aris- 
tides,  on  the  wooden  bench  by  the  hearth.  Tuscarora  stood 
opposite  to  her,  leaning  on  his  rifle.  His  face  had  a  kind  of 
^arthly  hue,  his  eye  had  the  cold  sparkle  of  steel,  and  his 
hands  were  reddened  with  blood. 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  239 

'^  She  revives/'  he  uttered  in  a  stern,  hoarse  voice.  "  Has 
my  sister  strength  to  ride  ?" 

''  Take  me  away  from  this  dreadful  place,"  she  cried.  "  I 
can  ride — I  can  walk — do  any  thing  but  stay  here." 

"  Let  my  brother  remain  with  her,"  said  Tuscarora,  "while 
I  bring  the  horses  to  the  door.  There  may  be  a  gang  of 
these  wretches,  who,  snuffing  the  blood  of  their  comrade,  will 
come  down  upon  us  like  wolves." 

"  Enter  not  into  that  room,"  cried  Aristides,  as  Linda  rose, 
to  get  her  bonnet  and  shawl.  "  Tell  me  your  wishes,  and  I 
will  go — but  turn  not,  look  not  there." 

Linda  had  already  looked,  and  her  blood  froze  with  horror. 
Stretched  right  across  the  opening,  for  Tuscarora  had  burst 
the  door  from  its  hinges,  lay  the  body  of  the  hunter,  ghastly 
and  rigid  in  death,  his  right  hand  grasping  a  thick  tuft  of  the 
Indian's  sable  hair,  and  the  floor  around  him  smeared  with 
gore.  While  gazing  on  this  dreadful  spectacle,  Tuscarora 
entered  with  hurried  step,  and,  bringing  his  rifle  down  with 
a  thundering  sound,  exclaimed — 

"  Our  horses  are  gone  !  That  vile  man  and  woman  have 
stolen  them  and  fled.     My  brother's  alone  is  left." 

Linda  uttered  a  cry  of  anguish. 

"  Oh  !  let  us  fly,"  she  cried,  "  from  this  house  of  blood ! — 
I  cannot  stay  in  sight  of  that  bleeding  corpse  !" 

Tuscarora  approached  the  bed,  and,  drawing  off  a  dark 
counterpane,  spread  it  like  a  pall  over  the  stifi'ening  body  of 
the  hunter.  "  We  will  cover  the  face  of  the  dead,"  said  he, 
'^  I  destroyed  the  wolf  to  save  my  young  sister  from  its  fangs. 
I  thirsted  not  for  blood." 

His  face  had  lost  its  expression  of  savage  ferocity,  and 
melancholy  was  stamped  upon  its  features. 

"  Hasten,  my  brother,"  said  he,  "  and  takr».  her  with  you. 
Your  horse  will  bear  the  burden  of  both.  Follow  the  road 
that  leads  to  the  right,  and  seek  shelter  in  the  first  house  you 


240  LINDA;    OK,   THE   YOUNG  PILOT 

meet.  Tell  them  a  wretch,  slain  in  defence  of  the  weak,  lies 
unburied  in  this  hut,  and  they  will  send  and  cover  him  with 
earth.  I  shall  follow  the  track  of  the  robbers,  and  meet  you 
when  they  have  delivered  up  their  prey." 

Shouldering  his  rifle  and  tightening  his  wampum-belt,  Tus- 
carora  strode  out  of  the  cabin.  Linda  clung  to  Aristides,  en- 
treating him  to  depart,  as  if  the  avenger  of  hlood  were  already 
at  the  door. 

^^  Faster,  faster,"  she  cried,  when  they  commenced  their 
solitary  ride.  "  Think  not  of  me — I  shall  not  be  weary, 
though  you  go  upon  the  wings  of  the  wind." 

Aristides  spurred  his  horse ;  but  it  was  one  of  those  social 
animals  that  require  the  exhilaration  of  company,  and  its 
spirits  drooped  for  the  noble  bay  and  the  fleet-limbed  gray. 
In  vain  the  whip  and  the  spur — it  refused  to  go  out  of  the 
moderate  pace  it  had  at  first  adopted. 

*'  If  Tuscarora  does  not  overtake  the  robbers,  we  are  un- 
done," said  Linda,  in  despairing  accents;  "and  if  he  does, 
there  will  be  more  blood  and  death.  Oh  !  that  I  had  never 
left  my  home  !  Truly  did  my  step-mother  say  that  I  carried 
disaster  and  ruin  wherever  I  went.  Rash,  misjudging  girl 
that  I  was;  but  I  had  no  one  to  counsel  me  but  my  own 
weak  heart." 

The  stifled  sobs,  which  she  tried  in  vain  to  suppress,  almost 
broke  the  feeling  heart  of  Aristides.  He  wanted  to  console 
her,  but  his  own  nerves  were  terribly  shattered  by  the  scene 
he  had  just  witnessed.  He  had  a  woman's  horror  of  blood ; 
and  yet,  had  not  Tuscarora  anticipated  the  deed,  he  would 
have  rushed  to  the  defence  of  Linda,  and  perilled  his  life  to 
save  her.  He  remembered  what  the  man  had  said  about  the 
broken  bridge  and  the  swollen  creek,  and  looked  anxiously 
towards  the  moon,  but  it  continued  to  shine  with  unclouded 
radiance  high  above  the  verge  of  the  horizon. 

"I  hear  the  murmur  of  water,"  said  Linda,  after  riding 


OP  THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  241 

what  seemed  to  her   an  interminable  distance.     '^  I  see  its 
glimmer  in  the  moonlight." 

A  sudden  turning  of  the  road  brought  them  to  the  banks 
of  the  creekj  whose  ruined  bridge,  partly  bright  with  silvery 
sheen,  and  partly  black  with  contrasted  shadows,  in  a  calmer 
moment  Linda  would  have  contemplated  with  romantic 
interest.  The  current  looked  strong — the  waters  turbid. 
Linda  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  stemming  the  deep  and 
angry  tide.  Aristides,  too,  paused  on  the  brink,  for  he  felt 
there  was  imminent  danger  of  being  carried  down  the  stream. 

"  If  there  was  a  possibility  of  your  passing  the  bridge,"  said 
he,  "  I  could  venture  across  myself  and  meet  you  on  tho 
opposite  bank.  JVil  desperandum.  God  protects  those  he 
loves." 

"  Let  me  dismount  and  try  the  bridge,"  said  Linda.  ^'  It 
almost  reaches  the  opposite  bank."  In  a  moment  her  light 
figure  was  seen  gliding  along  the  ruinous-looking  arch,  and  she 
soon  reached  the  place  where  it  had  been  broken  by  the  rush 
of  the  waters.  A  rude  railing  had  been  constructed  above  a 
narrow  plank,  which  rested  on  the  naked  pier,  a  frail  footing- 
place,  and  Linda  felt  dizzy  at  the  mere  sight.  How  then  could 
she  venture  to  walk  upon  it  with  those  dark  waters  dashing 
below  ?  Still  it  was  preferable  to  crossing  it  on  horseback, 
for  though  one  might  be  borne  across  in  safety,  she  might  by 
ner  presence  endanger  the  life  of  Aristides,  and  drag  him  with 
her  into  a  watery  grave.  Clinging  to  the  railing  that  vibrated 
in  her  grasp,  she  stepped  on  the  slippery  plank,  and  without 
daring  to  cast  one  glance  below,  went  on  her  perilous  path. 

Aristides  beheld  her  suspended  as  it  were  in  the  blue  ether 
and  his  heart  almost  ceased  beating.  He  could  scarcely  see 
the  plank  that  supported  or  the  railing  that  guided,  and  so 
airy  and  spirit-like  she  looked,  with  rills  of  brightness  flowing 
round  her,  he  gazed  as  upon  some  supernatural  vision.  Just 
aa  she  was  about  to  plant  a  foot  upon  the  pier,  the  plank 


212  LINDA;    OR,    TqE   YOUNG   PILOT 

elided  from  its  uncertain  position,  licr  robes  fluttered  a  nn> 
ment,  and  a  plunging  sound  was  heard  in  the  stream.  Aris- 
tides  was  conscious  of  nothing  till  he  found  himself  buffeting 
the  tide  under  the  broken  arch,  and  calling  her  name  in  ac- 
cents that  reverberated  moui'nfull}"  from  the  rocky  banks.  The 
current  was  strong,  and  several  times  he  was  drawn  down  in 
an  opposite  direction,  but  he  struggled  with  an  arm  almost  as 
resistless  as  Tuscarora's.  He  saw  her  rising  above  the  waters, 
and  stretching  out  her  arms  imploringly,  but  before  he  could 
reach  her  she  again  sunk,  and  her  dark  robes  were  un distin- 
guishable in  the  stream  over  which  the  black  shadows  fell. 

^^  Grod  of  mercy,"  he  cried,  ^'  give  me  strength,  give  me 
strength  to  reach  her.  Dominej  Deus  mens — 0  Lord  my 
God,  hear  me.'^ 

Once  more  her  fair  face  emerged  like  a  cold  wintry  star 
above  the  dark  pall  that  mantled  her  form.  With  a  strength 
that  was  given  him  from  on  high,  Aristides  beat  back  the  eddy- 
ing tide,  and  his  arm  surrounded  her  just  as  she  was  disap- 
pearing a  second  time  from  his  sight.  He  felt  her  clinging 
to  him,  and  the  conviction  that  she  was  not  dead  gave  new 
vigour  to  his  frame.  A  few  more  wrestles  with  the  stream,  and 
the  bank  was  reached.  With  a  convulsive  laugh  he  sunk 
down  with  his  dripping  burden. 

"  Juhilate  Deo  I"  he  exclaimed.  "  But  what  shall  I  do  with 
thee,  poor  perishing  child,  drenched  and  chilled  as  thou  art  ?" 

Linda,  motionless,  but  not  entirely  unconscious,  lay  on  his 
arm,  with  a  countenance  so  resembling  death  that  he  was  wild 
with  alarm.  Kneeling  over  her,  still  supporting  her  with  one 
arm,  while  he  lifted  the  other  hand  to  heaven,  he  cried  with  bitter 
anguish, — "  Miserere  met,  Deus — Lord,  have  pity  upon  me  !" 

Just  as  Linda,  roused  by  these  piteous  cries,  opened  her  eyes, 
and  tried  to  assure  hiin  that  she  lived,  a  shout  was  heard  from 
the  bank  they  had  left,  and  he  heard  the  deep  voice  of  Tus- 
carora  calling  his  name.     Aristides  sent  back  a  feeble  answer, 


OP  THE  BELLE   CREOLE.  243 

for  La  was  exhausted  by  his  unwonted  efforts,  but  it  was  heard 
by  the  quick  ear  of  the  Indian,  who,  mounted  on  his  noble 
bay,  with  the  bridle  of  the  dapple  gray  in  his  left  hand,  ap- 
peared  in  a  moment  swimming  across  the  stream  with  his  re- 
covered treasures.  The  horse  of  Aristides,  rejoicing  in  the 
return  of  its  companions,  true  to  its  social  principles,  followed 
behind  and  joined  his  wearied  master  on  the  bank. 

The  snorting  animals  shook  the  water  from  their  dripping 
manes,  and  stood  with  curving  necks  pawing  the  ground,  as  if 
proud  of  the  feat  they  had  accomplished. 

"  Why  is  my  young  sister  lying  here  ?  And  why  is  the  voice 
of  my  brother  like  a  sick  man's?"  said  Tuscarora. 

Aristides  explained  the  danger  Linda  had  incurred,  accus- 
ing himself  bitterly  for  having  suggested  such  a  perilous  ex- 
pedient as  crossing  the  bridge. 

"  You  saved  me,''  said  Linda,  raising  herself  from  his  arm, 
"you  saved  me,  best  and  kindest  of  friends;  and  you,  too," 
taking  the  hand  of  Tuscarora,  "  you,  too,  have  delivered  me 
from  death.  Eaise  me,  for  I  am  strong.  I  never  shall  fear 
again,  never,  while  my  preservers  are  near." 

She  spoke  in  an  excited  tone,  and  her  eyes  had  an  unnatu- 
ral brightness.  "I  am  strong,"  she  repeated,  ^'very  strong. 
Let  us  not  linger  here.  Welcome,  my  gentle  gray,"  patting 
his  wet  back.     "  I  long  to  mount  thee  once  more." 

"My  sister  is  not  strong  enough  to  ride  alone,"  said  Tusca- 
rora, alarmed  at  the  unnatural  excitement,  of  her  manner,  and 
cradling  her  on  his  left  arm  as  if  she  were  an  infant,  he 
mounted  his  horse,  taking  the  bridle  of  the  other,  and  bidding 
Aristides  follow. 

Linda  made  no  resistance,  and  supported  by  the  strong  arm 
so  lately  reddened  by  blood,  she  felt  buoyed  up  as  if  borne  on 
wings.  Notwithstanding  her  garments  were  saturated,  and 
her  hair  drenched,  her  cheeks  burned  and  her  hands  glowed 
with  heat. 


244  LINDA;   OR,  THE  YOUNG  PILOT 

"  "WTiere  did  you  overtake  the  robbers  ?"  asked  Aristides, 
'^  and  did  they  yield  without  strife  ?'' 

"  I  tracked  them  deep  in  the  woods.  I  followed  the  print 
of  the  horses'  hoofs,  and  I  would  have  known  them  if  they 
had  been  among  a  thousand  others.  They  had  hid  themselves 
in  a  dark  thicket,  but  I  found  them  as  readily  as  in  the  blaze 
of  day.  I  took  the  shawl  of  the  woman,  thick  and  strong  as 
a  blanket,  and  tearing  it  in  pieces  bound  them  both  to  the 
trunks  of  trees  and  left  them.  The  man  was  a  coward,  and 
dared  not  fight.  They  cursed,  but  I  answered  not.  I  thank 
the  Great  Spirit  that  the  blood  of  another  wretch  has  not 
stained  my  hand." 

Aristides  looked  wistfully  ahead,  to  see  if  the  wished-for 
haven  was  not  in  sight.  He  felt  very  cold  and  miserable,  for 
he  had  not  the  iron  constitution  of  Tuscarora,  who  revelled 
in  the  watery  element,  and  minded  the  waves  no  more  than 
so  many  dew-drops.  It  was  not  long  before  a  house^  very 
different  from  the  one  they  had  just  deserted,  greeted  their 
eyes.  The  neat  fence,  the  shaded  yard,  and  comfortable  out- 
houses promised  comfort  and  rest  within.  The  door  was  soon 
opened,  and  Tuscarora,  having  consigned  Linda  to  the  care  of 
Aristides,  entered  first,  that  he  might  explain  to  the  owner  of 
the  mansion  the  circumstances  which  brought  them  there. 
He  soon  returned,  and  ushered  Linda  into  a  nice  and  pleasant- 
looking  apartment,  on  the  hearth  of  which  a  fire  was  already 
Bparkling.  The  master  of  the  house,  a  gentleman  of  respect- 
able appearance  and  kind  countenance,  welcomed  them  with 
cordiality ;  telling  Linda  that  his  wife  would  come  as  soon  as 
she  was  dressed,  and  assist  her  in  changing  her  wet  garments. 
Linda  smiled,  and  looked  down  upon  her  dress. 

"  I  do  not  like  to  see  her  smile  in  that  way,"  thought  Aris- 
tides, and  his  heart  ached  from  fear  that  her  sufferings  were 
not  ended.  There  was  a  bright  red  spot  on  her  cheeks  and  a 
iuslre  in  her  eyes  that  made  her  dazzlingly  beautiful,  and 


or   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  245 

her  clinging  raiment,  displaying  the  exquisite  outlines  of  her 
rounded  form,  did  not  disfigure  her,  as  they  would  have  done 
one  of  less  symmetrical  lineaments.  Poor  Aristides  did  indeed 
look  most  piteous.  His  long,  slender  limbs  appeared  twice  as 
long  and  slender  as  they  did  before,  and  his  hair,  matted  close  to 
his  head,  however  it  might  exhibit  his  phrenological  develop- 
ment, deprived  it  of  much  of  its  intellectual  dignity.  As  he 
sat  by  the  fii-e,  with  his  hands  resting  on  his  knees,  gazing  on 
Linda  with  a  mournful,  anxious  expression,  drops  of  water 
oozing  occasionally  down  his  cheeks,  it  must  be  acknowledged 
he  presented  rather  a  ludicrously  melancholy  appearance. 
The  entrance  of  the  landlady  caused  Linda  to  start  forward, 
and  with  eager  interest  she  perused  her  features,  reading  in 
every  line  kindness  and  benevolence. 

'^  Bless  me,  my  poor  child,''  said  she,  laying  her  hand  on 
Linda's  damp  shoulder.  "  You  must  not  sit  in  these  wet 
clothes.  Come  into  my  room,  and  let  me  get  you  warm  and 
dry.     But,  mercy  on  me,  what  a  hot  hand  is  this !" 

As  Linda  felt  the  kind  hand  on  her  shoulder,  and  heard 
the  compassionate  voice  so  soothingly  addressing  her,  yielding 
to  an  irresistible  attraction,  she  threw  her  arms  round  her 
neck,  saying  :  "  You  will  take  care  of  me,  will  you  not  ?  You 
look  kind  and  good.  I  think  something  dreadful  must  have 
happened,  but  I  do  not  recollect  what  it  is.  I  have  a  strange 
feeling  here ;"  putting  her  hand  to  her  head  with  a  bewil- 
dered air.  "  My  hair  is  too  heavy,  and  presses  too  tight  on 
my  brow." 

"  Terror  has  touched  her  brain,"  said  Tuscarora,  answering 
the  alarmed  looks  of  the  landlady.  ^<-  There  is  fever  in  her 
veins.  Let  her  drink  of  some  cooling  herb,  and  rest  where 
your  eye  can  watch  her.  No  wonder  the  lamb  should  trem- 
Dle,  just  escaped  from  the  den  of  the  wolf." 

"  Take  care  of  him,"  cried  Linda,  looking  back  tenderly 
upon  Ai-istides;  as  the  landlady  led  her  from  the  room.    "  And 


246  LINDA;   OR;  THE   YOUNa   PILOT 

tell  him  not  to  talk  in  Latin  to-night.  It  will  be  bad  for  his 
head,  after  being  in  the  water  so  long/' 

"Alas,  alas!"  said  Aristides,  wringing  his  hands,  "she 
knows  not  what  she  utters." 

"  Sleep  and  that  kind  woman  will  restore  her,"  answered 
Tuscarora.  "  I  pray  the  God  of  the  white  man  to  deal  gently 
with  her,  for  she  has  been  sorely  tried.  But  she  says  right — 
take  care  of  yourself,  if  you  would  still  aid  in  protecting 
her." 

While  Aristides,  tortured  with  anxiety  for  his  beloved  pupil, 
retired  where  dry  garments  and  a  warm  bed  awaited  him, 
Tuscarora  remained  with  the  landlord,  talking  of  the  awful 
event  which  had  just  occurred.  The  latter  promised  to  ac- 
company him,  as  soon  as  the  day,  which  was  already  beginning 
to  streak  the  sky,  was  a  little  higher  in  the  east,  to  the  hovel 
where  the  body  of  the  hunter  lay,  and  with  the  assistance  of 
Bome  stout  negroes,  have  it  removed  and  buried.  The 
wretches  bound  in  the  woods  had  probably  released  them- 
selves by  this  time,  and  probably  returned  to  their  abode. 
The  landlord  spoke  of  this  family  as  vile  vagabonds,  who 
were  considered  the  pest  and  scourge  of  the  country  round, 
and  looked  upon  the  deed  which  Tuscarora  had  committed,  in 
defence  of  injured  innocence,  as  a  blessing  to  mankind.  The 
people  who  formerly  resided  at  the  hut,  and  who  were  known 
to  Tuscarora  as  honest,  though  poor,  had  left  the  place  since 
he  had  last  travelled  in  this  direction,  and  these  new  tenants 
taken  possession. 

The  dignified  and  high-minded  Indian  would  not  knowingly 
have  entered  such  a  den  of  wickedness,  or  exposed  Linda  to 
horrors  which  had  evidently  shattered  her  reason. 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  247 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

What  a  different  aspect  Pine  Grove  now  presents,  from 
what  it  did  six  months  ago  ! 

The  mistress  who  then  presided  with  the  iron  will  and  the 
Median  law,  now  sits  a  leaden  ruin  in  the  midst  of  her  house- 
hold, with  drooping  hands,  half-powerless  limbs  and  eyes,  in 
whose  stony  orbs  even  the  white  heat  of  passion  seems  cold 
and  extinguished. 

Subject  to  those  terrible  paroxysms  which  had  seized  her 
at  the  bedside  of  her  son,  her  powers  of  body  and  mind  had 
gradually  given  way,  till  she  exhibited  the  most  melancholy 
spectacle  in  the  universe — a  mass  of  cold,  deadened  matter,  in 
which  the  fire  of  passion  and  the  light  of  mind  no  longer 
glowed. 

Robert,  with  the  bitterest  remorse  and  deepest  anguish, 
watched  over  the  wreck  which  he  believed  his  own  unmastered 
passions  had  made.  He  remembered  with  shuddering  emo- 
tions the  denunciation  he  had  uttered  against  her,  and  would 
have  given  worlds  could  he  have  seen  her  paralyzed  mind 
awakened  to  a  consciousness  of  her  transgressions,  so  that  he 
could  bear  her  in  the  arms  of  faith  and  prayer  to  the  feet  of 
that  Saviour  on  whose  mercy  he  had  cast  his  own  sin-sick 
and  burdened  soul. 

The  -poor  negroes,  who  had  so  long  trembled  under  her 
despotic  sway,  in  whose  ears  the  low  sound  of  her  monotonous 
voice  was  terrible  as  the  hissing  of  the  thunderbolt,  who  had 
been  accustomed  to  obey  the  glance  of  her  pale  eye,  as  if  it 
were  the  fiat  of  fate,  looked  with  the  same  awe  upon  her 
hushed  and  passive  state,  as  beings  of  old  did,  upon  the  mu- 
riatic pillar  once  known  as  Lot's  wife. 

The  remembrance    of  her  harshness  and   tyranny  would 


248  LINDA;   OR,    THE   YOUNG  PILOT 

have  prevented  them  from  paying  her  those  attentions  her 
helpless  condition-,  demanded,  had  not  Robert  interposed  the 
shield  of  his  filial  tenderness,  and  hallowed  the  object  of  his 
cares. 

"Be  kind  to  my  mother  for  my  sake,"  was  his  gentle  ad- 
monition. 

"Was  this  the  fiery  and  exciting  Robert  ?  Ah  !  religion 
transforms  the  lion  into  the  lamb. 

Robert  was  a  devout  enthusiast.  Had  he  lived  in  the  early 
^days  of  Christianity,  he  would  have  gloried  in  the  flames  of 
martyrdom.  He  wished  that  his  faith  would  expose  him  to 
persecution  and  shame,  that  he  might  testify  like  the  saints  of 
old  his  devotion  to  his  divine  Master.  His  soul  was  filled 
with  a  burning  zeal,  which  must  find  objects  on  which  to  shed 
its  consuming  fires.  He  longed  to  devote  himself  to  the  mis- 
sionary cause,  feeling  as  if  in  no  other  situation  he  would  be 
called  upon  to  exercise  the  self-denial  and  humiliation  he  con- 
sidered necessary  for  the  chastening  of  his  late  proud  and  re- 
bellious spirit. 

When  the  good  and  pious  Rayner  suggested  to  him  to  be 
his  companion  in  a  journey,  in  which  as  a  home  missionary 
he  was  about  to  distribute  the  word  of  God  to  the  destitute 
heathen  of  our  own  land,  he  eagerly  consented.  A  wild 
hope,  too,  of  learning  something  more  definite  of  Linda's  fate, 
quickened  the  pulsations  of  his  being. 

"  If  her  ashes  only  rested  on  consecrated  ground,"  thought 
he,  "  hallowed  by  Christian  burial,  and  guarded  by  angel  vi- 
sitants, I  would  resign  myself  without  a  murmur  to  the  will 
of  God.  If  I  could  only  find  a  place  for  my  tears,  they  should 
soon  cease  to  flow." 

He  would  not  have  consented  to  leave  his  mother,  but  her 
dull,  unspcculating  eye  showed  no  recognition  of  his  pre- 
sence. The  physician  said  she  might  linger  for  years  in  the 
same  condition,  and  Mr.  Marshall  ofi'cred  to  superintend  the 


OP   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  249 

family  interests  during  Robert's  absence.  He  even  dispensed 
with  the  services  of  the  faithful  Judy,  and  sent  her  to  take 
her  former  station  as  housekeeper  at  Pine  Grove.  Once  more 
her  white  turban  was  seen  in  its  towering  aristocracy,  shooting 
from  apartment  to  apartment,  heralded  "by  the  jingling  of 
keys  and  the  turning  of  locks,''  and  Dilsey  and  Minta,  now 
full-grown  and  accomplished  housemaids,  became  again  her 
attendant  satellites. 

"  What  an  awful  judgment !"  Judy  would  mutter,  her  eye 
fixed  on  the  doomed  mistress  of  the  mansion.  "  The  Lord  has 
smitten  her  for  the  dreadful  treatment  of  that  poor,  dear, 
sweet_»  darling  young  creature,  whom  she's  just  as  good  as 
murdered.  Bless  her  little  heart  and  soul.  I  sees  her  spirit 
every  night,  standing  over  poor,  dead  mistress'  grave,  look- 
ing so  white  and  sorrowful,  with  beautiful  wings  on  its  shoul- 
ders. If  it  had  not  been  for  Master  Robert — well — well ! 
He's  a  Christian  now.  The  Lord  has  forgiven  him ;  and  it 
won't  do  for  poor  nigger  to  be  harder  on  him  than  the  blessed 
Lord." 

The  night  before  his  departure,  Robert  called  the  negi'oes 
together  in  the  open  yard,  beneath  the  shadow  of  the  house- 
hold pines.  It  was  the  season  of  early  spring,  and  the  wea- 
ther was  as  balmy  and  soft  as  its  blending  sunbeams  and 
showers  could  make  it. 

Pine  torches,  blazing  from  the  summit  of  the  tri-footed  pil- 
lars, mingled  their  ruddy  beams  with  the  pale  lustre  of  a  wax- 
ing moon,  and  in  the  double  illumination  rows  of  upturned 
ebony  faces  shone  with  a  kind  of  dark  splendour,  rivalling 
the  smoothness  and  brightness  of  marble. 

"  High  above  the  rest,  in  shape  and  gesture 
Proudly  eminent" — 

Aunt  Judy's  head-dress  rose  like  a  tower,  on  which  the  night- 
rcys  gathered  in  a  radiant  focus.     Nor  was  she  less  distin- 


250  LINDA;   OR,   THE  YOUNG  PILOT 

guished  for  the  superior  solemnity  and  intelligence  of  hef 
aspect,  the  devotional  calmness  of  lier  attitude,  the  neatness 
and  propriety  of  her  attire. 

Robert  stood — his  head  uncovered,  his  long,  black  hair 
waving  in  the  breeze,  and  his  eyes  beaming  with  supernatural 
radiance — before  this  humble  and  awe-struck  assembly.  He 
looked  upon  them  no  longer  as  brute  hirelings,  born  to  a 
state  of  subserviency  and  vassalage,  but  as  immortal  beings, 
children  of  the  same  Almighty  Father,  and  heirs  of  the  same 
glorious  inheritance  as  himself.  As  such  he  addressed  them  : 
and  though  his  language  might  be  too  highly  wrought  for 
their  unlettered  ears,  the  evidences  of  sincerity  and  feeling,  the 
enthusiastic  fervour  of  his  looks  and  manner,  touched  the  chords 
of  their  simple  and  confiding  hearts.  To  think  of  Master  Ro- 
bert, once  so  vile  and  wicked,  turning  a  preacher,  to  them  it 
was  a  miracle  indeed,  and  marvellous  in  their  eyes.  Some 
wept  silently,  others  rocked  to  and  fro,  uttering  low,  sup- 
pressed groans,  while  a  few  ventured  upon  louder  demonstra- 
tions of  feeling,  such  as  an  occasional  shout  and  wild  exclama- 
tion. Judy  had  been  listening  with  the  most  rapt  attention, 
hardly  daring  to  breathe,  lest  she  should  lose  some  expression 
which  struck  her  with  the  force  of  inspiration,  making  warn- 
ing gestures  to  the  right  and  left,  that  she  might  insm-e  the 
continuance  of  order  and  restraint ;  but  her  emotions  became 
at  length  too  mighty  for  control.  She  saw  the  white  tomb- 
stone of  her  departed  mistress,  cold  and  still,  in  the  lonely 
little  enclosure  so  near;  she  saw,  too,  with  her  spirit's  eye,  the 
ghost  of  Linda,  flitting  through  the  silver-tinted  shadows,  and 
the  voice  of  Master  Robert  was  in  her  ears — that  deep,  impres- 
sive voice,  talking,  like  a  youthful  St.  Paul,  of  -"  sin,  righteous- 
ness, and  judgment  to  come."  Judy  could  not  bear  such  a 
weipiht  of  solemnities.  Her  excitement  broke  through  all 
bounds.  She  rose  from  her  seat,  and,  clapping  her  sable 
hauc^,  shouted,  "  Glory '"  till  myriad  voices  joined  in  the 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  251 

chorus,  and  "Glory,  glory!'*  resounded  through  the  grove, 
and  echoed  through  the  distant  woods. 

Then  the  sweet  and  mellow  voice  of  Kayner  was  heard 
swelling  out  in  one  of  those  monotonous,  touching  hymns,  pe- 
culiar to  the  church  to  which  he  belonged }  and,  as  the  rude 
minstrels  joined  in  the  ever-recurring  chorus,  the  vehemence 
of  their  feelings  subsided  into  the  hush  that  usually  succeeds 
any  stormy  emotion. 

Robert  gave  them  an  individual  farewell,  commending  hig 
mother  to  their  watchfulness  and  kindness,  promising  them  an 
abundant  earthly  reward  on  his  return,  and  endless  blessings 
hereafter,  if  they  proved  faithful  to  the  trust  imposed. 

An  hour  afterwards,  Robert  stood  alone  beneath  the  two 
arching  trees  which  was  once  the  trysting-spot  of  his  boy- 
hood. Ilis  spirit  rolled  back  on  the  waves  of  the  past,  with  a 
swift,  rushing  motion ;  but  every  scene  on  the  margin  of  those 
darkened  waters  rose  as  vividly  before  him  as  if  his  bodily 
eyes  were  gazing  upon  the  reality. 
Such  was  the  phantasmagoria. 

A  rough,  violent,  mischief-loving,  pampered  boy  of  four- 
teen, and  a  sweet,  gentle,  dove-eyed  child,  on  whose  counte- 
nance the  sixth  beatitude  was  written  in  celestial  characters. 
A  passionate,  headstrong,  despotic  youth,  and  an  innocent 
confiding,  lovely  maiden,   shrinking  from  his  wild,  undisci- 
plined love,  pleading  for  protection,  and  pleading  in  vain. 

A  frenzied,  heaven-defying  man,  madly  pursuing  the  victim 
of  his  passion,  reckless  of  man  and  God,  and  a  lifeless  form, 
wrapped  in  the  winding-sheet  of  the  waves — its  requiem  the 
murmur  of  the  waters  and  the  sighing  of  the  winds. 

A  weeping  penitent,  a  trembling  believer,  an  humble  Chris- 
tian, and  a  young  saint,  redeemed  and  glorified,  awaiting  him 
in  a  brighter,  fairer  world. 

As  the  last  vision  passed  before  him,  Robert  bowed  his 
head,  and,  kneeling  on  a  spot  no  sacred  to  memory,  renewed 

0 


252  LINDA;    OR;  THE   YOUNG  PILOT 

the  solemn  covenant  made  on  the  bed  of  sickness,  to  conse- 
crate his  whole  being  to  the  sei-vice  of  his  Maker.  There  he 
knelt  till,  in  the  beautiful  language  of  Scripture,  "  his  head 
was  wet  with  dew,  and  his  locks  were  heavy  with  the  drops  of 
night/' 

The  next  morning,  before  the  rising  sun,  he,  with  his  evan- 
gelical companion,  had  commenced  their  long,  equestrian 
journey  through  some  of  the  wildest,  most  uncultivated  regions 
of  the  Southern  forests. 

One  night,  after  they  had  been  travelling  weeks,  rejoicing 
in  their  labours  of  love,  they  stopped  at  a  mansion  whose  ex- 
terior promised  far  better  accommodations  than  any  which  they 
had  seen  in  their  rambles.  The  m'aster  of  the  house,  whose 
name  was  Barlow,  recognised  the  pious  Rayner,  and  gave  him 
and  his  young  friend  the  most  cordial  and  hospitable  welcome. 
Mrs.  Barlow  was  a  kind  and  gentle  lady,  and  looked  with 
much  interest  on  the  pala  and  handsome  features  of  Robert, 
saddened,  as  they  were,  by  an  expression  of  profound  melan- 
choly.  After  supper  was  over,  and  Rayner  had  consecrated 
the  closing  hour  with  prayer,  she  lingered  as  if  she  had  some- 
thing to  communicate,  and  her  eyes  rested  especially  on 
Robert. 

"  Do  you  leave  early  in  the  morning  T'  she  asked. 

"Before  the  rising  of  the  sun,"  he  replied. 

"  We  have  a  young  invalid  in  the  house,"  continued  she, 
"  who  has  been  brought  very  low,  even  to  the  gates  of  the 
grave.  For  a  long  time  she  was  deprived  of  her  reason;  but 
now,  though  still  weak  and  languid,  she  can  converse  without 
injury.  I  am  sure  your  presence  will  be  a  comfort  to  her,  for 
it  is  seldom,  in  these  forests,  we  are  visited  by  the  minister 
of  God." 

Robert's  heart  bounded  wildly  in  his  bosom.  A  young 
invalid,  deprived  of  her  reason — who  could  she  be?  But 
Mrs.  Barlow's  next  words  destroyed  the  illusion. 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  253 

"She  is  an  orphan,  committed  to  my  care,  whose  k,ulness 
to  a  dear  and  only  daughter  on  her  death-bed  chxims  my 
everhisting  gratitude.  I  will  go  and  prejoare  her  for  your 
coming." 

In  a  few  moments  she  returned,  and,  hearing  a  lamp 
ushered  the  minister  and  his  young  neophyte  to  the  apartmen 
of  the  invalid. 

"  She  is  still  too  weak  not  to  be  agitated  by  the  presence 
of  strangers,"  said  she,  in  a  low  voice,  as  she  guided  them 
through  the  passage.  "  Perhaps  you  had  better  not  address 
her  till  your  prayers  have  tranquillized  her  soul.  Poor  child  ! 
she  has  suffered  a  great  deal." 

She  opened  the  door  of  a  small,  neatly-furnished  apartment, 
and  Robert  entered  a  place  that  seemed  to  him  holy  ground — ■ 
the  sick-chamber  of  youth  and  innocence.  The  bed  was 
shaded  by  white  muslin  curtains,  which,  hanging  in  full  folds, 
concealed  the  youthful  invalid,  and  Robert,  with  instinctive 
delicacy,  drew  back  into  the  deepest  shadow  of  the  room, 
leaving  to  Rayner  the  office  of  the  ministering  angel,  a  defei-- 
ence  due  to  his  piety  and  superior  age.  Mrs.  Barlow  placed 
the  lamp  on  a  little  table,  on  which  an  open  Bible  was  already 
laid,  and  motioned  Mr.  Rayner  to  approach  it. 

Sweetly  did  his  solemn,  tender  voice  sound  in  that  quiet, 
shaded  room.  He  selected  one  of  the  divine  minstrelsies  of 
David,  and,  while  his  benign  countenance  was  lighted  with  the 
glow  of  devotion,  he  breathed  forth  those  heavenly  strains 
which  have  been  the  consolation  of  the  afflicted  ever  since  the 
shepherd-monarch  swept  his  consecrated  lyre.  Closing  the 
sacred  book,  he  rose,  and,  turning  to  Robert,  who  sat,  with 
his  brow  leaning  on  his  hand,  far  removed  from  the  light  of 
the  lamp, 

"  Come,  my  young  brother,"  said  he,  "  let  it  be  your  office 
to  intercede  at  the  throne  of  grace  in  behalf  of  our  sister — 
remembering  her  whom  you  have  loved  and  lost,  and  who,  you 


254  LINDA;    ORj  THE   YOUNG   TILOT 

humbly  trust,  is  now  a  beatified  spirit  in  heaven ;  let  your 
soul  gush  forth  in  melting  petitions  and  prevailing  supplica- 
tions." 

Robert  advanced  with  slow  steps,  his  tall  figure  towering 
above  the  lower  statui'e  of  his  companion,  and,  kneeling  by 
the  open  Bible,  the  rays  of  the  lamp  fell  brightly  on  his  lifted 
brow.  A  rustling  of  the  muslin  curtains — a  low,  shivering 
sigh  from  the  bed — strangely  startled  him.  That  sigh  ran 
like  electricity  through  his  frame.  He  tried  to  lift  his 
thoughts  on  high,  and,  raising  his  eyes  and  invoking  head  to 
heaven,  exclaimed,  in  a  deep,  low,  trembling  voice,  "  Oh  ! 
thou  Father  of  mercies  V  when  a  faint  shriek  from  the  bed 
arrested  his  accents.  Mrs.  Barlow  sprang  from  her  knees, 
and  Robert,  called  back  to  earth,  gazed  in  the  direction  of 
that  thrilling  cry.  The  curtain  was  drawn  back — a  face  white 
as  the  folds  from  which  it  emerged  was  leaning  forward  from 
the  pillow — while  one  hand  was  pushing  wildly  back  a  shower 
of  bright,  brown  ringlets  from  the  snowy  brow. 

"  Linda  !  Linda  V  cried  Robert,  attempting  to  spring  for- 
ward, but,  staggering  back,  he  fell  insensible  in  the  arms  of 
Rayner.  The  good  man  hung  over  him  in  agony,  trembling 
lest  the  red  stream  that  had  so  often  gushed  forth  from  those 
veins  of  fire  should  crimson  once  more  his  pallid  lips. 

"  Go  to  him,  go  to  him,"  said  Linda,  faintly  pushing  Mrs. 
Barlow  from  her,  to  whom  she  had  at  first  wildly  clung; 
*^  save  him — he  is  my  brother — let  him  not  die,  let  him  not 
die,"  she  repeated,  sinking  back  exhausted  on  her  pillow. 

Poor  Mrs.  Barlow  was  half  distracted,  not  knowing  on  whom 
to  lavish  her  cares;  but  she  obeyed  the  imploring  eyes  of 
Linda,  and  sought  those  restoratives  her  experience  taught 
her  would  be  efl&cacious  for  his  recovery ;  and  Mr.  Rayner 
had  the  unspeakable  relief  of  seeing  him  restored  to  con- 
Bciousness  without  the  terrible  hemorrhage  he  had  so  trem- 
blingly anticipated. 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  255 

With  the  rushing  current  of  life  came  back  the  most  be- 
wildering remembrances.  Was  it  a  dream  ?  Or  had  he 
been  permitted  a  glimpse  of  another  world  ?  Those  eyes,  so 
Boft,  yet  wild — so  mournful,  yet  so  sweet — had  they  only  shot 
forth  spirit-glances  burning  into  his  very  soul. 

"  Have  I  seen  her  again  V  he  cried,  raising  his  head  from 
the  supporting  breast  of  Kayner ;  "  or  has  she  risen  from  tho 
grave  to  mock  me  V 

"  She  lives,  my  son,'^  answered  Rayner,  laying  his  hand 
gently  on  Robert's  throbbing  temples;  "but  let  religion 
chasten  your  joy.  Remember  the  Giver  of  so  much  happi- 
ness.'' 

The  meeting  between  Robert  and  Linda  was  solemn  and 
affecting.  Restored  to  him,  as  it  were,  from  the  world  of 
spirits,  it  seemed  as  if  he  saw  her  rising  from  the  burjdng 
wave,  where,  in  imagination,  he  had  so  long  mourned  her — 
so  wan,  so  fair,  so  spiritual,  he  trembled  as  he  gazed,  lest  she 
should  melt  from  his  sight,  and  leave  him  again  to  darkness 
and  desolation.  And  Linda — the  memory  of  that  thrilling 
prayer — the  kneeling  attitude — the  heavenward  glance — tho 
clasped  and  uplifted  hands — the  humble,  supplicating  accents 
— the  devout,  purified  expression — filled  her  with  mysterious 
awe.  It  was  the  face,  the  form  of  Robert,  but  animated  by 
another  soul. 

"  Linda,  my  beloved  sister  !  I  have  mourned  thee  as  dead,'' 
exclaimed  Robert,  in  a  faltering  voice. 

Linda  felt  the  tears  of  Robert  moistening  her  cheek  as  he 
bent  over  her;  she  heard  the  gentle  emphasis  on  the  sweet 
name  of  sister,  she  met  the  softened  glance  of  his  once  insuf- 
ferable eyes,  and  she  knew  that  the  reign  of  passion  was  over. 
With  a  smile  of  ineffable  joy  and  gratitude,  she  suffered  her 
head  to  drop  upon  his  breast,  even  as  if  she  had  found  refuge 
in  the  arms  of  a  brother. 

"  Robert — brother — friend/'  she  murmured,  "  I  grieve  that 


256  unda;  or,  the  young  pilot 

I  have  given  thee  sorrow ;  but  oh  !  I  have  suffered  much  my- 
self/' 

Alarmed  at  the  deadly  pallor  of  her  countenance,  Mrs. 
Barlow  here  interposed,  with  maternal  authority,  and  insisted 
that  Linda  should  be  left  in  quietude  till  the  next  morning,  as 
she  feared  already  the  consequences  of  so  much  excitement. 
Rayner,  too,  noticed  with  anxiety  the  bloodless  cheeks  of  Ro- 
bert, and  imposed  upon  him  the  same  command. 

It  may  be  asked  what  peculiar  claims  Linda  could  offer  for 
the  gratitude  of  Mrs.  Barlow  ? 

When  Linda  found  shelter  under  the  roof  of  Mrs.  Barlow, 
an  incipient  fever,  the  result  of  suffering,  excitement,  and  ex- 
posure, was  burning  in  her  veins.  She  awoke  the  next  morn- 
ing in  delirious  agony,  and  for  weeks  she  uttered  nothing  but 
wild  and  incoherent  ravings. 

Li  the  aberrations  of  her  intellect,  there  was  still  sufficient 
method  for  the  listener  to  learn  something  of  her  past  history. 
The  relentless  persecutions  of  her  stepmother — the  ungovern- 
able passion  of  Robert — the  treachery  of  the  wily  Scotch- 
man— were  at  first  the  sole  subjects  of  her  wandering  mind. 
But  sometimes  she  was  the  inmate  of  Rose  Bower,  wandering 
in  the  oaken  grove  with  her  young  companions,  and  revelling 
in  all  the  free  joys  of  childhood.  Then  she  was  watching  by 
the  couch  of  the  dying  Luta,  standing  over  her  early  grave, 
and  joining  in  the  mournful  hymn  that  hallowed  her  last 
repose. 

"I  would  not  live  alway — ^I  ask  not  to  stay,"  warbled  the 
sweet  voice  of  Linda,  unconscious  that  it  was  the  mother  of 
Luta  who  was  bathing  her  burning  temples,  and  ministering 
unto  her  sufferings,  as  she  had  once  done  to  her  child.  Mrs. 
Barlow  had  felt  her  heart  drawn  towards  her  the  first  mo- 
ment she  saw  her.  Her  youth,  beauty,  and  helplessness,  the 
singularity  of  her  situation,  the  eccentricity  of  her  white  friend, 
the  wild  m^^jesty  of  her  Indian  guide,  all  threw  a  kind  of  ro- 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  257 

mance  and  mystery  around  ber  that  was  irresistibly  attractive. 
But  wben  sbe  saw  the  name  marked  upon  ber  apparel,  a 
name  Mrs.  Reveire  bad  so  often  mentioned  in  ber  letters,  as 
the  watcbing  angel  of  ber  Luta,  and,  beard  ber  murmuring  in 
jBUcb  mournful,  tender  tones  about  ber  lost  companion,  sbe 
/elt  as  if  Providence  bad  directed  tbe  young  wanderer  to  ber 
door,  tbat  sbe  migbt  repay  a  solemn  debt  of  gratitude. 

Tuscarora,  convinced  tbat  it  would  be  long  before  Linda 
would  be  able  to  continue  ber  journey,  went  on  alone  to  tbe 
"great  river,"  for  be  remembered  Naimuna  in  ber  solitary 
borne,  but  be  promised  to  return  before  two  moons  bad  waxed 
and  waned,  to  learn  of  tbe  welfare  of  bis  wbite  sister. 

But  Aristides  lingered  near  bis  beloved  cbarge,  doubly 
endeared  to  bim  by  ber  misfortunes  and  danger.  In  tbe 
wildest  wanderings  of  ber  intellect  sbe  seemed  to  bave  a  vague 
recollection  of  bis  person  and  individualities,  and  often 
brougbt  a  tear  to  bis  eye,  and  a  smile  to  tbe  lips  of  otbers,  by 
entreating  bim  not  to  talk  so  mucb  Latin,  as  it  was  very  bad 
for  botb  tbeir  beads. 

Poor  Aristides,  wbo  could  talk  only  between  inverted  com- 
mas, forebore  to  speak  at  all,  and  would  sit  for  bours  in  silent 
melancboly,  listening  to  tbe  unconscious  expressions  of  a  mind 
now  like  sweet  bells  jingled  out  of  tune. 

Tbe  recovery  of  ber  reason  left  ber  body  in  a  weak  and 
languisbing  state,  requiring  tbe  most  tender  and  assiduous 
care.  Ab !  Linda  bad  indeed  "  cast  ber  bread  upon  tbe 
waters,"  wben  sbe  wilted  tbe  roses  of  ber  cbildbood  over  tbe 
coucb  of  sickness  in  tbe  bower  wbere  Luta  bloomed  and  died. 
Little  did  sbe  tbink  tbe  time  would  ever  come,  wben  sbe 
would  owe  tbe  restoration  of  reason,  bealtb,  and  life  itself,  to 
tbe  motber  over  wbose  anticipated  sorrows  sbe  bad  so  often  wept. 

When  sbe  awoke  tbe  morning  after  Robert's  arrival,  and 
recalled  tbe  events  of  tbe  preceding  evening,  ber  beart  was 
filled  witb  inexpressible  gratitude  and  tranquillity. 


258  LINDA;    OR,  THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

The  incubus  that  had  weighed  upon  her  bosom  like  a 
mountain  of  lead  was  removed,  and  a  feeling  light  as  the  fiut- 
terings  of  down  supplied  its  place.  Robert,  whose  love  had 
been  the  terror  and  bane  of  her  existence,  whose  image  had 
always  risen  a  dark  and  terrible  shadow  between  her  and  all 
future  felicity,  she  could  now  love  as  a  brother,  trust  as  a 
friend,  and  revere  as  a  Christian.  A  change  so  mighty  could 
only  have  been  wrought  by  Divine  power,  and  she  dwelt  upon 
it  with  adoring  awe. 

The  peace  of  her  mind  diffused  a  sweet  serenity  over  her 
countenance,  and  the  warmth  of  her  heart,  whose  best  and 
purest  affections  were  now  awakened,  sent  a  long-absent 
roseate  tint  to  her  pallid  cheek.  Mrs.  Barlow  burnished  with 
all  a  mother's  pride  the  '*  golden  embrownment "  of  her  hair, 
that  beautiful  hair,  which,  even  in  the  worst  stages  of  her  deli- 
rium, she  never  could  summon  resolution  to  cut. 

"  "When  I  bathe  her  head  with  cold  water,''  she  would  rea- 
son, ^'  her  hair  keeps  the  moisture,  and  cools  the  fever  of  her 
temples."  So  she  continued  to  moisten  and  smooth  her  luxu- 
riant ringlets,  rescuing  from  sacrilegious  touch  nature's  most 
beautiful  ornament. 

When  Robert  again  met  Linda ;  when  he  saw  the  sweet, 
confiding  smile  that  played  upon  her  lips,  the  endearing  ten- 
derness with  which  she  extended  both  hands,  and  called  him 
"  Brother,  her  dear  brother  Robert,"  a  faint,  sick,  dizzy  feel- 
ing came  over  him.  A  stormy  gust  swept  across  his  soul.  It 
was  the  resurrection  of  jj^ssion — the  awakening  of  the  spirit's 
warfare.  "  I  could  resign  her  to  the  grave,"  thought  he,  "  but 
can  I  to  a  living  rival  ?  0  Thou,"  continued  he,  lifting  his 
heart  heavenward — "  Thou  who  wast  once  tempted  in  the 
wilderness  of  life,  leave  me  not  to  the  power  of  my  bosom  ene- 
mies." 

Linda  watched  the  agitated  features  of  Jkobert,  and  the 
Kmile  forsook  her  lips.     Yet  it  was  not  terror,  but  pity  and 


OP  THE   BELLE  CREOLE.  259 

grief  sHe  felt,  for  his  countenauce  expressed  the  most  intense 
anguish. 

"  You  have  been  ill,  Robert,"  she  said,  gently  pressing  his 
trembling  hand.  "  You  are  very,  very  pale,  and  your  mother, 
Robert,''  added  she,  in  a  lower  tone,  as  if  fearful  of  breathing 
her  name,  '^  you  have  not  spoken  of  her." 

Then  Robert,  having  mastered  himself  by  a  powerful  effort, 
sat  down  by  her  side,  and  told  her  all  that  had  happened  dur- 
ing her  absence,  touching  as  lightly  as  possible  on  his  own 
physical  sufferings;  and  Linda's  heart  was  tortured  by  self-re- 
proach and  remorse  for  the  awful  consequences  of  her  flight. 
The  powerless  state  to  which  her  step-mother  was  reduced,  a 
stony  fixture  in  her  own  household,  a  cold,  stiffening  link  be- 
tween the  living  and  the  dead— a  mere  mockery  of  life,  filled 
her  with  indescribable  awe. 

She  thought  of  the  solemn  words  of  Scripture : — "  Ven- 
geance is  mine  :  I  will  repay,  saith  the  Lord."  She  tried  to 
soften  the  narration  of  her  own  sufferings,  but  the  simple  fact 
of  McCleod's  treachery  was  enough  to  excite  the  indignant 
sph-it  of  Robert,  and  his  eyes  emitted  rays  of  their  former 
scorching  fires.  Anxious  to  change  the  current  of  his  emo- 
tions,  she  described  her  noble  Indian  friend,  his  stern  forest 
virtues  softened  and  elevated  by  the  influence  of  civilization 
and  the  heavenly  spirit  of  the  Christian  religion.  She  dwelt 
on  the  lovely  character  of  Naimuna,  the  parental  kindness  and 
ceaseless  devotion  of  the  good  Aristides,  the  maternal  tender- 
ness and  affectionate  cares  of  Mrs.  Barlow. 

^^  When  I  look  back  upon  the  past,"  said  she,  "I  see  so 
much  cause  for  gratitude  and  humility,  I  wonder  I  ever  could 
distrust  the  guardian  Providence,  whose  wings  of  love  have 
brooded  over  me,  like  the  down  of  the  bird  over  her  young. 
From  what  dangers  have  I  been  delivered  !  Through  what 
trials  been  sustained  !  And  now  the  first  and  warmest  prayer 
of  my  life  seems  answered.     I  am  assured  of  a  brother's  pro- 


260  LINDA  ;   OR,  THE  YOUNG  PILOT 

tection  and  care,  where  I  have  always  yearned  to  find  it.  I 
am  no  longer  desolate  and  alone." 

All  that  was  good  and  noble  in  Robert's  regenerated  nature 
responded  to  this  trust. 

"  If  I  ever  prove  unworthy  of  this  sacred  confidence,"  cried 
e,  ^^  may  I  be  forsaken  by  that  merciful  Being,  to  whose 
service  I  have  consecrated  myself,  body  and  soul.  For  all 
past  wrong,  and  strife,  and  passion,  forgive  me.  For  all  future 
tenderness,  brotherly  kindness,  and  self-sacrificing  devotion, 
believe  and  trust  me ;  and  the  confidence,  however  unmerited, 
shall  never  be  betrayed." 

"  Oh,  Robert !"  was  all  Linda  could  utter,  but  her  tears 
were  more  eloquent  than  words.  She  was  still  too  weak  not 
to  suffer  from  such  an  agitating  interview,  and  it  was  several 
days  before  Robert  was  again  admitted  into  her  presence. 

In  the  mean  time  Aristides,  who  had  been  absent,  for  the 
first  time  since  Linda's  illness,  on  an  hunting  excursion,  (as 
his  health  had  suffered  from  his  long,  anxious  vigils,)  returned, 
and  was  welcomed  by  Robert  with  affectionate  respect.  Aris- 
tides could  scarcely  recognise  his  former  pupil,  in  the  lofty, 
intellectual-looking,  and  remarkably  handsome  young  man 
before  him. 

Alas  for  Linda !  Alas  for  the  shorn  lamb,  for  whom  God 
bad  so  gently  tempered  the  pitiless  blast  I — must  she  fall  again 
into  the  hands  of  the  wolf?  Had  all  her  perils  and  sufferings 
been  in  vain  ? 

Robert  read  the  suspicions  that  clouded  his  keen,  gray  eye, 
and  he  resented  them  not.  He  hastened  to  reassure  him,  by 
declaring  it  the  solemn  purpose  of  his  soul,  to  assist  in  plac- 
ing Linda  with  her  friends,  and  to  facilitate  by  every  means 
in  his  power  her  union  with  Roland  Lee. 

Rayner,  who  felt  it  his  duty  to  continue  his  missionary 
labours,  bade  a  reluctant  adieu  to  his  interesting  young  friends, 
promising  Robert  to  meet  him  at  Pine  Grove,  as  soon  as  his 


OP   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  261 

mission  was  ended.  All  that  was  now  wanting  was  the  resto- 
ration of  Linda's  health,  when  she  was  to  commence  her  jour- 
ney anew,  under  the  united  guardianship  of  Robert  and  Aris- 
fcides. 

The  time  seemed  rapidly  approaching,  as  every  day  gave 
added  strength  and  elasticity  to  her  frame,  and  a  rosier  tint  to 
the  lilies  of  her  cheek.  Her  confidence  in  Roland  Lee  had 
never  wavered.  He,  too,  probably  believed  the  story  of  her 
death,  but  she  knew  she  was  not  forgotten. 

With  a  faith  so  strong,  it  had  the  confidence  of  certainty, 
she  looked  forward  to  a  day  of  reunion,  and  as  the  star  conse- 
crated to  his  memory  smiled  upon  her  from  the  azure  depths 
of  night,  it  seemed  like  the  star  of  the  East,  to  go  before 
her  watching  spirit,  a  herald  of  peace,  and.  joy,  and  love. 


CHAPTER  XX. 


Linda  once  more  a  traveller! — ^Without  following  her 
equestrian  journey,  we  will  meet  her  on  the  banks  of  the 
Mississippi,  where,  with  her  two  protectors,  she  is  ready  to  em- 
bark in  a  new  and  splendid  boat,  that  is  ploughing,  for  the 
first  time,  the  mighty  bosom  of  the  father  of  ancient  waters. 

As  the  stately  vessel  swept  with  a  rapid  and  graceful  cir- 
cumvolution towards  the  landing,  Linda's  eyes,  dazzled  by  the 
sunbeams  sparkling  on  the  waters,  could  not  distinctly  read 
the  name  of  the  virgin  bark,  but  one  by  one  the  golden  letters 
forming  the  fatal  name  of  the  Belle  Ch^eoU,  beamed  in  glitter- 
ing characters  on  her  sight.  She  turned  of  a  deadly  pale- 
ness, and  grasped  the  arm  of  Robert  with  unconscious  energy. 
There  was  something  startling  in  this  coincidence  of  names, 
and  a  strange  hope  thrilled  through  her  heart. 


2G2  LINDA  ;   OR;  THE  YOUNG   PILOT 

"  Who  is  the  captain  of  this  new  boat  ?"  asked  Robert,  in- 
terpreting the  speaking  glance  of  Linda. 

"  Captain  Hunly/'  answered  the  gentleman  whom  he  ad- 
dressed. 

The  name  of  the  pilot  trembled  on  the  lips  of  Linda,  but 
she  dared  not  ask  so  strange  a  question ;  and  oppressed  with 
mournful  remembrances  and  agitating  hopes,  she  walked  in 
silence  through  the  long  and  magnificently  furnished  cabin,  to 
the  one  appropriated  to  the  ladies'  use. 

Here  a  bright,  smiling  mulatto  girl,  anxious  to  do  the 
honours  of  the  boat,  conducted  her  to  a  state-room,  so  ele- 
gantly adorned,  it  looked  like  a  fashionable  boudoir — expect- 
ing to  be  rewarded  by  some  expression  of  wonder  and  de- 
light, but  the  preoccupied  Linda  heeded  not  the  decorationa 
that  surrounded  her. 

"  I  hope  they  have  a  careful  pilot,"  said  she,  blushing  at 
the  little  artifice  she  was  usins;.  "  I  was  once  on  a  boat  which 
was  blown  up  in  a  terrible  manner,  and  it  has  made  me  very 
timid  on  the  water.  I  hope,"  continued  she,  more  earnestly, 
'Hhat  you  have  a  good  and  experienced  pilot." 

"  There's  two  of  'em,"  replied  the  girl,  "  and  they've  both 
been  on  the  river  long  enough  to  know  what  they're  about,  as 
much  as  eight  or  ten  years.  There's  one  of  'em  going  along 
on  deck  now,  with  the  green  jacket  on.  T'other  is  a  heap 
older  than  he." 

Linda  looked  from  the  window,  and  saw  a  stout,  weather- 
beaten,  bronze -visaged  man,  who  looked  as  if  he  had  been  ex- 
posed to  many  a  warring  wind  and  burning  sun. 

She  compared  him  in  imagination  with  the  form  of  Roland 
Lee,  graceful  in  youth  and  manly  beauty,  and  turned  away 
with  a  deep,  quivering  sigh. 

"  Oh !  if  you  only  seed  the  young  captain,"  said  the  social 
mulatto;  ^^he's  the  handsomest  man  you  ever  seed  in  your 
born  days — and  so  grand,  too,  though  he  looks  sorter  sorry- 


OP   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  263 

like  !  He  went  in  the  small  boat,  t'other  side  of  the  river, 
when  they  stopped  to  take  you  in.  He'll  be  back  soon. 
You'd  better  look  out,  for  'twill  be  worth  seeing,  I  can  tell 
you." 

Linda  scarcely  heard  the  words  of  her  attendant,  so  deeply 
were  her  thoughts  buried  in  the  past.  The  girl,  feeling  her 
conversational  powers  somewhat  slighted,  left  her  to  find  more 
appreciating  auditors  3  and  Linda  gazed  abroad  with  intense 
emotion  on  that  glorious  stream,  which  she  had  learned  to 
associate  with  the  image  of  Roland  Lee. 

Concealed  by  the  drapery  that  shaded  the  window,  she  sat 
and  looked  on  the  glittering  fleece  of  the  water,  the  element 
that  Roland  loved,  and  over  which  her  spirit,  like  the  arkite 
dove,  went  forth  with  trembling  wing  in  search  of  some  green 
olive-leaf  of  hope  in  token  of  future  joy. 

A  barge,  rowed  by  four  boatmen,  was  pushing  from  the  op- 
posite shore.  A  gentleman  stood  in  the  centre,  and  as  the 
light  vessel  rocked  to  and  fro,  his  figure  inclined  with  a  grace- 
ful motion,  like  a  flexible  tree,  swaying  in  the  wind.  He  was 
dressed  in  black,  and  a  piece  of  black-crape,  tied  round  his  left 
arm,  fluttered  in  the  breeze.  There  was  something  in  the  at- 
titude, the  outlines  of  that  erect,  commanding  figure,  that 
made  Linda  bend  forward  with  a  more  eager,  intense  gaze. 
She  shaded  her  eyes  with  her  hand,  she  passed  her  handker- 
chief over  the  glass  to  remove  the  mist  of  her  panting  breath. 
Nearer  and  nearer  glided  the  barge,  more  and  more  distinct 
became  the  lineaments  of  that  upright  form. 

There  was  a  loud  cheer  from  the  deck  of  the  Belle  Creole, 
xnd  the  gentleman,  lifting  his  hat  and  waving  it  in  the  air, 
stood  with  uncovered  head,  while  the  sunbeams,  shining  in 
their  zenith  glory,  played  brightly  around  his  brow. 

"Roland!"  ejaculated  Linda,  sinking  back  in  her  chair 
A  mist  darkened  her  sight.  The  sound  of  many  waters  seem«^d 
rushing  in  her  ears. 


264  LINDA;   OR,   THE  YOUNG  PILOT 

She  was  roused  by  the  cheerful  voice  of  the  mulatto  girl— 
*^"Well,  have  you  seed  the  captain  V  asked  she,  putting  her 
ivory  teeth  through  the  door — "  but,  gracious !  how  pale 
you  be  V 

Linda  held  out  her  hand  for  a  glass  of  water,  and  as  she 
rank,  the  mist  passed  away  from  her  sight. 

^'  They  told  me  it  was  Captain  Hunly,"  said  she,  abstract- 
edly, "  why  should  they  deceive  me  V 

"La,  no  V  says  the  girl,  "it's  Captain  Lee.  I  know  how 
it  happened.  Mr.  Hunly,  who  is  mighty  rich,  and  one  of  the 
best  men  that  ever  ],ived — and  1  ought  to  know,  for  he's  my 
own  blessed  master — had  the  boat  made,  and  he  gin  it  him- 
self to  Captain  Lee,  'cause  he  saved  his  life  once.  Nobody 
knowd  any  thing  about  it  till  the  boat  was  all  finished,  and 
trimmed  up  beautifully;  and  then,  master  sent  for  the  captain^ 
Mr.  Lee  1  believe  'twas  then — and  told  him  all  about  it.  I 
hearn  master  say,  he  loves  the  young  captain  just  as  well  as 
if  he  was  his  own  son,  and  I  don't  wonder  at  it.  He's  a  real, 
natoral  born  gentleman,  and  there's  no  lie  about  it." 

The  girl  had  no  reason  to  complain  now  of  the  indifiference 
of  her  auditor,  though  Linda  startled  and  changed  colour  at 
every  resounding  tread.  She  knew  that  Robert  and  Roland 
must  meet,  and  that  the  crisis  of  her  destiny  was  at  hand. 

In  the  mean  time,  Robert,  who  was  walking  the  deck,  be- 
held the  approach  of  the  little  boat,  and  recognised  the  form 
of  his  once-hated  and  contemned  rival.  Roland,  too,  recog- 
nised the  features  of  Robert,  and  sternness  settled  on  his  brow. 
The  remembrance  of  Linda  rose  darkly  before  him,  at  the 
Bight  of  her  supposed  destroyer ;  and  the  young  master  of 
that  magnificent  boat,  who  was  greeted  with  such  enthusiastic 
cheers,  entered  it  with  a  spirit  goaded  almost  to  madness  bj 
recollected  insults  and  inexpiable  wrongs. 

They  met  face  to  face — these  two  young  men — on  the  deck 
of  the  Belle  Creole.     The  hot  blood  rushed  with  a  crimson 


OP  THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  265 

glow  to  the  face  of  Roland,  but  Robert  remained  colourless  aa 
marble.  He  was  conscious  of  a  noble  purpose — and  magna- 
nimity is  always  calm.  Advancing  a  few  steps,  and  holding 
out  his  hand,  he  said,  in  a  low  voice  : 

"  Captain  Lee,  I  ask  forgiveness  for  the  past,  and,  if  possi- 
ble, confidence  for  the  future.' ' 

There  was  something  so  truthful  and  dignified  in  his  man* 
ner,  so  simple  and  manly  in  his  address,  that  it  appealed  pow- 
erfully to  the  ingenuous  nature  of  Roland.  He  involuntarily 
extended  his  hand,  but  averted  his  face  to  conceal  the  moist- 
ened eye  and  quivering  lip,  which  might  expose  him  to  a  rival's 
pity. 

"I  have  much  that  I  wish  to  say,"  said  Robert.  '^ Could 
I  see  you  a  few  moments  in  private  ?" 

Roland  led  the  way  in  silence  to  his  own  apartment,  where, 
closing  the  door,  he  turned  towards  Robert  his  agitated  coun- 
tenance. 

^' You  wear  the  badge  of  mourning,"  said  Robert.  ''May 
I  ask,  if  it  is  for  one  we  both  have  loved  these  sable  weeds 
are  worn  ?" 

"Stop,"  exclaimed  Roland;  "my  grief  should  be  sacred 
from  intrusion,  and  most  of  all  from  you.  Have  loved !  Your 
words  are  mockery,  sir." 

"  I  have  much  to  say,"  continued  Robert ;  "  but  I  tremble 
for  the  effect  of  my  communication.  Yet  I  know  myself  how 
much  joy  the  human  heart  can  bear." 

"  Speak — quick,  and  tell  me  what  you  mean,"  cried  Roland, 
turning  upon  him  with  a  flashing  eye. 

"  What,  if  I  should  tell  you,  that  she  whom  you  mourn  as 

'dead  still  lives,  and  lives  for  you.     Nay,  stay  and  hear  me^ 

and  believe  me.     I  would  not  dare  to  trifle  with  your  sorrow 

Linda  lives,  and,  reserving  only  a  brother's  rights,  I  yield  to 

you  every  claim  upon  her  love." 

Roland  gazed  upon  Robert  for  a  moment,  with  a  strange- 


266  LINDA;   OR,  THE   YOUNa   PILOT 

bewildered  expression,  then  pressing  botli  hands  upon  his  fore- 
head, turned  of  ashy  paleness. 

Fearful  that  he  had  been  too  abrupt  in  his  communication, 
Robert  laid  his  hand  gently  on  his  arm,  and  said  : — 

"  Let  me  say  to  thee,  my  brother,  as  a  holy  friend  did  to 
me,  when  my  soul  fainted  under  the  burden  of  its  joy,  let 
religion  chasten  thy  felicity.  Bemember  the  great  Giver  of 
60  much  happiness.'* 

As  Robert  uttered  these  words  in  a  calm,  impressive  voice, 
Roland's  countenance  lost  its  wild  expression,  his  head  gradu- 
ally bent  down,  then  throwing  his  arm  round  Robert's  neck, 
he  wept,  even  as  passionate  and  tender  woman  weeps. 

Robert's  glistening  eyes  attested  the  depth  of  his  sympathy. 
No  feeling  of  jealousy  now  mingled  its  bitterness  with  the 
pure  fountain  of  his  thoughts.  He  found  a  noble,  self-sacrific- 
ing spirit  its  own  reward.  The  hour  he  had  been  so  long 
dreading,  as  the  test  of  his  sincerity  and  truth,  was  come,  and 
he  had  strength  to  yield  Linda  to  another — nay,  he  felt  a  joy 
in  the  sacrifice,  so  pure  and  exalted,  he  would  not  have 
exchanged  it  for  all  that  passion  and  self-indulgence  in  their 
most  prodigal  moods  could  offer. 

And  Roland  and  Linda  met :  but  we  will  imitate  the  deli- 
cacy of  Robert,  and  not  intrude  on  the  sacredness  of  the  inter- 
view. It  is  difficult  to  describe  joy,  rising,  Lazarus-like,  from 
the  tomb  of  despair.  The  artist  can  paint  the  black  cloud  of 
the  gathering  tempest,  but  when  a  glorious  sun-burst  comes 
flashing  out  from  the  gloom,  he  drops  his  pencil,  conscious  of 
the  impotence  of  his  genius, 

"  Unless  to  mortal  it  were  given, 
To  dip  his  brush  in  dyes  of  heaven." 

The  mulatto  girl,  who  seemed  to  possess  a  kind  of  ubiqui- 
tous power,  was  not  slow  in  discovering  and  communicating 
the  interesting  relation  that  existed  between  the  young  captain 
fcnd  the  beautiful  stranger.     Having  caught  several  disjointed 


OF  THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  267 

sentences,  referring  to  his  belief  in  her  death,  her  vivid  imagi- 
nation filled  up  the  hiatus,  and  she  told,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
that  the  young  lady  had  been  buried  alive,  and  stayed  under 
ground  ever  so  long,  till  the  young  man  with  the  black  hair 
and  eyes  went  into  her  tomb  and  brought  her  back  to  life,  and 
that  it  was  she  for  whom  the  young  captain  was  in  moui-ning, 
and  had  been  looking  so  mournful  about. 

It  is  not  strange  that,  after  such  surprising  rumours,  Linda 
should  be  an  object  of  peculiar  interest  and  curiosity,  or  that 
when  she  appeared  at  table,  escorted  by  Koland  and  Robert, 
followed  by  her  tall,  slender,  remarkable-looking  shadow, 
Aristides  Longwood,  every  eye  should  be  directed  towards  her, 
and  ominous  whispers  be  breathed  from  lip  to  lip. 

The  disappearance  of  the  black  crape  from  the  arm  of  Ro- 
land, the  radiant  expression  of  joy  that  lighted  up  his  counte- 
nance, the  colour  that  flitted  in  rosy  clouds  over  the  cheeks  of 
Linda,  the-iiowncast  eyes  veiled  by  their  long,  brown  lashes, 
that  shunned  the  gaze  of  all,  corroborated  the  testimony  of  the 
mulatto. 

Conscious  that  she  was  the  focus  of  many  a  keen  and  scru- 
tinizing glance,  Linda  was  rejoiced  when  the  moment  arrived 
for  withdrawing  to  the  ladies'  cabin,  but  she  was  totally  unpre- 
pared for  the  astounding  remarks  that  awaited  her  there. 

"  What  an  awful  feeling  it  must  be,''  exclaimed  a  cadave- 
rous-looking lady,  drawing  her  face  down  to  twice  its  usual 
length,  "  to  be  put  under  ground,  among  coffins  and  dead 
men's  bones  I" 

Linda  looked  up  at  this  terrific  speech,  and  fixed  her  won- 
dering eyes  upon  the  speaker. 

"  Isn't  it  a  dreadful,  horrible  feeling  ?"  asked  the  lady  more 
directly. 

"  Indeed  I  know  not,''  answered  Linda,  beginning  to  doubt 
the  sanity  of  her  neighbour. 

"  Then  you  were  insensible  all  the  time,  were  you,  and  dij 


2G8  LINDA;    OR,    THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

not  know  when  they  took  you  out  1"  added  she  in  a  more 
funereal  tone. 

"  I  don't  understand  you,  madam/^  answered  Linda,  now 
really  terrified,  drawing  farther  from  her  strange  companion. 

"  I  shouldn't  think  you  would  mind  talking  about  it  now,'' 
continued  the  inquisitor,  following  her  to  the  other  side  of  the 
cabin,  whither  she  had  retreated,  "  though  it  must  have  been 
awful  at  the  time." 

'^  What  must  have  been  awful  ?"  repeated  Linda,  looking 
anxiously  towards  the  door,  with  a  look  the  woman  thought 
supernatural. 

"  Why  to  be  buried  alive  as  you  have  been,  to  be  sure," 
cried  the  lady,  ending  the  sentence  with  a  low  groan. 

Linda,  uttering  a  faint  scream,  darted  through  the  door  so 
suddenly,  that  she  almost  overthrew  poor  Aristides,  who  was 
walking  with  measured  steps  the  length  of  the  cabin. 

"  0  jpuella  carissima,"  he  exclaimed,  gazing  with  alarm 
upon  her  terrified  countenance,  "  what  new  misfortune  has 
befallen  thee  ?" 

"  Nothing,"  answered  Linda,  with  more  composure,  "  only 
there  is  a  crazy  woman  in  the  cabin — I  dare  not  stay  with 
her." 

Roland,  who  was  on  deck,  heard  the  voice  of  Linda,  and 
could  not  forbear  approaching.  He  listened  with  astonish- 
ment to  the  cause  of  her  agitation,  assured  that  the  evidences 
of  insanity  must  have  been  as  sudden  as  alarming. 

"  Oh,  there  she  is !"  exclaimed  Linda,  shrinking  tremblingly 
behind  her  friends,  "let  her  not  see  me." 

A  long,  jaundiced  face  appeared  through  the  folding-doors 
and  a  solemn  hand  beckoned  the  captain  to  approach. 

lloland  immediately  advanced,  notwithstanding  Linda's  lew 
entreaties  that  he  would  beware. 

"  Captain,"  said  the  lady,  in  a  suppressed,  hollow  voice, 
"  you  must  look  after  that  young  woman.     All  is  not  right  in 


OF   THE    BELLE   CREOLE.  269 

i.<rf  brain/'  added  she,  toucliing  her  own  foreliead,  "and  it's  no 
wonder,  poor  tiling,  since  she's  been  buried  alive." 

Roland,  shuddering  at  the  appalling  idea  presented  to  his 
jnind,  no  longer  doubted  that  Linda's  fears  were  legitimate, 
and  knowing  that  insane  people  are  always  soothed  by  an 
apparent  deference  to  their  opinions,  he  assured  her  in  all  sin- 
cerity, that  the  young  lady  should  be  the  object  of  his  devoted 
care. 

"  Don't  let  her  go  too  near  the  water,"  whispered  she,  "  not 
long  ago  a  young  girl  jumped  overboard,  who  was  not  thought 
to  be  crazy  at  all.  All  they  noticed  was  a  wild'look  out  of 
the  eye,  exactly  like  this  poor  thing." 

Roland  again  thanked  her  for  her  friendly  solicitude,  and 
the  good  lady  closed  the  door,  after  casting  another  commise- 
rating glance  at  Linda. 

"  Anarcha,"  said  Roland,  to  the  mulatto,  who,  eager  with 
curiosity,  had  joined  the  group,  "  take  particular  notice  of  that 
lady.  She  is  evidently  deranged,  and  should  not  be  left  alone, 
lest  some  accident  befall  her." 

"  Oh,  mercy,"  cried  Anarcha,  "  I  would  not  stay  with  a 
crazy  woman  for  ten  thousand  dollars.  I  would  not  go  into 
that  cabin  again  for  this  boat  full  of  gold." 

Linda,  perceiving  that  Roland  looked  anxious  and  troubled 
m  this  new  perplexity,  tried  to  smile  away  her  terrors,  and  pro- 
posed sitting  on  deck,  where,  gazing  on  the  calm  majesty  of 
the  waters,  her  feelings  subsided  into  tranquillity. 

Towards  evening  the  mutual  apprehensions  of  Linda  and  the 
lady  died  away,  on  the  part  of  the  former  in  the  merriest 
laughter,  for  having  mentioned  to  Anarcha  the  terrific  ques 
tions  that  had  so  much  alarmed  her,  the  mulatto  knew  and 
acknowledged  they  were  caused  by  the  rumours  she  had  cir- 
culated. She  felt  an  unspeakable  relief  from  the  conviction 
that  she  was  not  obliged  to  wait  upon  a  crazy  woman,  and  that 
Linda  knew  nothing  of  the  secrets  of  the  tomb,  for  she  could 


270  LINDA;    OR;  THE   YOUNG   PILOT 

not  help  feeling  a  superstitious  awe  of  what  she  imagined  tho 
celestial  brightness  of  her  countenance. 

That  night  a  soft,  deep  mist  arose,  and  veiled  the  bosom  of 
tne  river.  The  boat  rested  on  its  anchor,  and  where  its  throes 
had  lashed  the  waves  to  foam,  all  was  stillness  and  gloom. 

Long  after  other  footsteps  were  silent,  two  figures  slowly 
walked  along  the  narrow  deck.  Their  low  voices  mingled 
with  the  monotonous  murmur  of  the  river,  and  their  glances 
meeting  through  the  shadows  of  night,  like  stars  dimly  burning 
through  the  mist,  thrilled  each  other's  souls  with  mysterious 
rapture. 

As  Linda  thus  walked,  encircled  by  the  arm  of  Roland 
Lee,  that  brave  and  manly  arm  which  had  twice  redeemed 
her  young  life  from  destruction,  she  felt  that,  to  pass  through 
existence  thus  protected  and  caressed,  no  dangers  could  in- 
timidate, no  perils  alarm.  Her  heart  ached  from  the  fulness 
of  its  gratitude  and  felicity.  The  brightness  of  the  present 
would  have  been  too  dazzling,  were  it  not  softened  by  the 
shadows  of  the  past. 

Hope,  chastened  by  memory — memory,  irradiated  by  hope 
•—two  holy  handmaids,  stood  at  her  side,  blending  in  their 
aspects  all  that  is  precious  on  earth  with  all  that  is  glorious 
in  heaven. 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  27-^ 


CHAPTER   IXI. 

Linda  a  bride.  Let  the  imagination  of  the  reader  supply 
the  links  wanting  in  the  chain  of  her  history  since  she  walked 
with  Roland  Lee  in  the  soft  mistiness  of  a  vernal  night,  with 
the  majestic  Mississippi  murmuring  beneath,  till  the  hour 
when,  arrayed  in  the  white  robes  of  a  bride,  she  stood  hand 
in  hand  with  him  whom  she  had  loved  from  childhood  with  a 
love  as  pure  and  constant  as  the  flame  that  burned  in  Vesta's 
guarded  temple. 

Some  of  the  most  loved  and  honoured  friends  of  her  child- 
hood and  youth  were  gathered  round  her  to  sympathize  in 
this  most  interesting  moment  of  her  life.  If  she  cast  her 
eyes  on  one  side,  they  rested  on  the  mild  features  of  Mrs. 
Reveire,  who  had  left  the  shades  of  her  distant  Rose  Bower 
at  the  invitation  of  one  of  her  best-beloved  pupils.  And  seated 
near  her  wa«  the  widowed  mother  of  Roland,  her  pale  coun- 
tenance lighted  up  with  an  expression  of  grateful  happiness, 
and  her  eyes,  beaming  with  all  a  mother's  pride,  fixed  upon 
the  face  of  her  son. 

On  the  other,  was  Emily,  far  more  beautiful  than  ever,  ac- 
companied by  her  warm-hearted  and  high-minded  husband. 
A  little  in  the  shade,  but  very  near  the  young  bride,  appeared 
the  figure  of  Aristides,  whose  gray  eyes  twinkled  through  the 
mist  of  excited  feeling. 

Partially  concealed  by  the  sheltering  vines  that  clustered 
round  the  light  verandah,  were  seen  the  stately  form  of  the 
Indian  Tuscarora  and  his  gentle  Naimuna. 

Relieved  by  the  green  shadows  that  surrounded  them,  min- 


272  lixda;  oH;  the  young  pilot 

gling  in  tlieir  attire  the  wild  grace  of  the  savage  "witli  the 
more  refined  taste  of  civilized  life,  these  dark  children  of  the 
forest  formed  a  beautiful  back-ground  to  the  fairer  group 
gathered  nearer  the  fair,  young  bride.  And  behind  these,  as 
well  as  in  every  door  of  the  apartment,  appeared  a  darker 
shade  of  human  countenances :  the  smiling,  ivory-teethed 
Africans,  proud  of  their  sweet,  young  mistress  and  her  noble- 
looking  bridegroom  ;  and  Judy  was  there  occupying  a  conspi- 
cuous station  in  advance,  actually  sobbing  for  joy,  and  wishing 
'^  her  poor,  dead  mistress  was  alive  to  see  this  blessed  day. 
As  for  old,  new  mistress,  let  her  rest  in  her  grave,  if  she 
could.  If  the  Lord  would  forgive  her,  she  would ;  but  she 
didn't  believe  she  ever  could  see  the  kingdom  of  heaven,  such 
an  awful  great  sinner  she  was." 

But  one  of  the  most  interesting  figures  occupied  the  most 
conspicuous  place  in  the  whole  assembly.  A  young  man 
stood  in  the  centre  of  the  apartment — an  open  Bible  in  his 
hand,  ready  to  consecrate  the  nuptial  rite,  and,  by  the  rising 
glow  that  mantled  his  pale  cheek,  the  intense  expression  of 
his  large,  brilliant,  black  eye,  it  might  be  seen  he  was  no  un- 
interested actor  in  the  maiTiage  scene.  It  was  the  first  time 
he  had  ever  officiated  at  the  hymeneal  altar,  and  those  who 
knew  the  history  of  the  past  gazed  upon  the  youthful  minis- 
ter with  no  common  emotion.  And  never  was  the  marriage- 
ceremony  performed  with  more  feeling,  fervour,  and  solem- 
nity, than  by  Robert  Graham.  When  his  deep-toned,  and 
slightly  faltering  voice  pronounced  the  benediction,  Linda 
drew  the  folds  of  the  bridal  veil  over  her  face  to  conceal  her 
fast-falling  tears.  She  thought  less  of  her  own  happiness, 
than  the  sublime  renunciation  of  Robert. 

^^  Oh  !"  thought  she,  "  what  a  glorious  principle  is  faith, 
jrhen  it  thus  elevates  and  sustains  the  soul  of  man  V 

After  the  first  rush  of  congratulation  was  over,  Aristides 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  273 

approached  liis  wedded  pupil,  and,  taking  her  offered  hand  in 
his,  began : 

^''Ohl  uxor  juvenissimay  pidcJirissima  y  his  voice  choked. 
In  vain  he  endeavoured  to  clear  away  its  huskiness ;  tears 
blinded  his  eyes  and  impeded  his  utterance.  He  drew  back, 
and  the  classic  address  was  lost ;  but  the  remembrance  of  his 
deep  sensibility,  his  true  affection,  sunk  in  the  heart  of  Linda 
more  impressively  than  the  eloquence  of  a  Cicero  would  have 
done. 

Near  the  close  of  the  evening,  Eobert  and  the  wedded  pair, 
standing  apart  from  the  rest,  spoke  long  and  earnestly  to- 
gether. 

"  Kemain  with  us,  my  brother,"  cried  Eoland,  "  and  share 
our  happy  home." 

"  Leave  us  not  yet,  dear  Robert,"  said  the  entreating  voice 
of  Linda ;  "  our  happiness  cannot  be  perfect  without  your 
participation." 

"  I  have  fulfilled  my  mission  here,"  answered  the  young 
minister,  "and  holy  duties  call  me  hence.  The  home  of  joy 
and  love  needs  not  my  ministrations.  Where  there  is  sorrow 
and  darkness  and  sin,  I  go  to  bear  the  message  of  my  divine 
Master." 

"  Oh  !  Robert,"  cried  Linda,  "  promise  me,  before  we  part, 
that  we  shall  yet  see  you  in  a  home  of  your  own,  where  love 
and  joy  shall  gild  your  days  like  ours.  Let  us  not  think  of 
you  as  travelling  alone  through  the  darkest  paths  of  life.  I 
cannot  be  happy,  Robert,  unless  I  know  you  so." 

"  I  am  happy,  my  beloved  sister,"  cried  he,  with  an  up- 
ward, beaming  glance ;  "  but  my  happiness  is  not  of  this 
world.  Never  again  will  the  flame  of  earthly  love  be  kindled 
from  the  ashes  of  extinguished  passion.  To  love  you  as  a 
brother — pray  for  you  as  a  Christian,  looking  forward  to  a 
more  perfect  communion  in  a  holier  world,  will  henceforth  be 


274  LINDA;   OR,   THE  YOUNa  PILOT 

the  chief  joy  and  consolatioji  of  my  lonely  existence.  Yes, 
Linda,  you  will  still  be  the  source  of  my  earthly  happiness ; 
but  my  hope  and  trust  is  in  heaven." 

He  paused  from  deep  emotion,  and,  turning  away,  his  lofty 
figure  disappeared  beneath  the  green  archway. 

^'Yes,*'  said  Linda  to  Roland,  as  their  eyes  pursued  his 
retreating  form,  "  he  is,  he  will  be  happy.  It  would  be 
sacrilege  to  pity  him." 

"  Yet  I  am  guilty  of  that  sacrilege,"  replied  Roland.  "  I 
must  pity  the  one  who,  having  loved  thee,  Linda,  sees  thee 
transferred  to  the  botsom  of  another." 

3|»  5}*  *t^  *!*  ^  'i* 

And  Linda  and  Roland  were  happy. 

In  the  overflowing  gratitude  of  her  heart,  she  had  gathered 
around  her  beautiful  home  the  friends  and  benefactors  of  her 
childhood  and  youth. 

An  apartment  finished  with  classic  taste,  supplied  with  the 
finest  authors  of  antiquity,  and  adorned  with  golden  apho- 
risms, such  as  dignified  the  walls  of  the  old  log  "fechool-house, 
was  set  apart  for  Aristides  Longwood. 

A  large  and  airy  room,  commanding  a  view  of  a  magnifi- 
cent plantation,  stretching  and  rolling  as  far  as  the  eye  could 
reach,  was  appropriated  to  the  grateful  and  munificent  Hun- 
iy,'who,  though  unable  to  be  present  at  the  marriage-feast 
of  his  young  friends,  visited  them  in  the  morning  of  their 
wedded  life,  and  gazed  with  delight  on  the  sweet  face  of  her 
whose  gentle  voice  had  left  such  melodious  echoes  in  his 
memory. 

Then  there  was  Mrs.  Lee^s  room,  Mrs.  Reveire's  room,  and 
Emily's  room,  and  Mrs.  Barlow's  room.  Never  did  a  young 
bride  commence  such  a  patriarchal  establishment. 

In  a  neat,  white  cabin,  too,  shaded  by  vines  and  shrubbery, 
and  furnished  with  every  comfort  and  many  a  luxury, — and 


OF   THE   BELLE   CREOLE.  275 

invested  with  all  the  privilege  of  freedom,  performing  only 
those  labours  of  love  that  form  a  beautiful  link  between  the 
master  and  mistress,  and  the  slave  liberated  by  grateful  affec- 
tion from  the  bondage  which  would  impose  an  unwilling  task, 
—resided  our  favourite  Judy,  absolute  queen  of  the  sable  do- 
minions. 

And  when  Linda  and  Roland  wandered,  at  the  twilight 
hour,  through  the  flower-margined  avenues  of  their  beautiful 
garden,  and  the  fragrant  orange  groves  that  adorned  their 
S.  uthern  home,  they  would  turn  aside  to  her  cottage-door  to 
greet  with  kindly  words  the  old  household  friend.  And  Ro- 
land loved  to  listen  to  her  eloquent  memories  of  the  past,  for 
Linda  always  was  associated  with  them  as  an  angel  of  gladness, 
mercy,  and  love.  There  was  but  one  forbidden  theme :  the 
cruelties  and  persecutions  of  her  step-mother. 

"  She  is  dead,''  Linda  would  say  -,  "  let  her  ashes  rest  in 
peace.  Remember,  too,  she  was  the  mother  of  Robert,  and 
for  his  sake  let  the  past  be  forgiven  and  forgotten." 

Another  name  she  interdicted  in  her  presence, — the  ab- 
horred name  of  McCleod.  She  knew  nothing  of  his  fate ;  she 
wished  not  to  know. 

^'  I  am  too  happy,''  she  exclaimed,  "  to  bear  malice  towards 
a  human  being." 

And  there  was  another  spot  where  they  loved  to  wander, 
farther  on  in  the  shadows  of  the  "  grand  old  wood,"  where 
the  ancient  waters  lifted  up  their  voices  and  the  winds  made 
anthems  in  the  lone  forest  aisles,  and  that  was  the  wigwam  of 
Tuscarora,  formed  after  the  wild  architecture  of  the  savage, 
yet  beautiful  with  all  the  comforts  of  civilized  life,  which  Linda 
dared  to  offer  to  this  independent  son  of  the  wilderness. 

True  to  the  promise  made  to  his  white  sister  during  their 
memorable  journey,  the  noble  Indian  accepted  the  home  she 
had  prepared,  and  made  it  a  resting-spot  in  his  wild  and  wan- 
dering life. 


276  LINDA;   OR,  THE  YOUNG  PILOT. 

He  loved  to  go  forth  to  the  hunting  grounds,  and,  returniiig 
with  the  trophies  of  the  chase,  the  shaggy  skin  of  the  bear, 
or  the  branching  antlers  of  the  deer,  lay  them  at  the  feet  of 
hi  1  benefactress. 

Y"es,  Linda  was  happy. 


The  seqael  to  the  history  of  ^^  Linda,"  will  be  found  in  a 
Wnrk  just  published,  uniform  with  this,  under  the  title  of 
"  Robert  Graham.'' 


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Edinond  Dantes 75 

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The  Horrors  of  Paris, 75 

The  Fallen  Angel 75 

Sketches  in  France, 75 

I-nbol  of  Bavaria 75 


Man  with  Five  Wives, 

Twin  Lieutenants, 

Annette,  Lady  of  the  Pearls,. 

Mohicans  of  Paris, 

The  Marriage  Verdict, 

The  Cor'^ioMn  Brnthcr.-- 


75 
75 
50 
50 
50 
50 


Count  of  Moret, 50  |  George, 50  |  Buried  Alive, 25 


^^  Books  83nt,  postaj^e   paid,  on  receipt  of  the  Retail    Price,  by 
T.  B.  Potc-rscn  &  Drct^-r?,  FhiVxblphia,  Fa. 


T.  B.  PETEHSOllir  &  BROTEEES'  PUBLICATIONS.   5 


CHARLES     DICKENS'     WORKS. 

>eii^  GREAT    KEDUCTIOW    IN    THEIR    PRICES.  "^Sl 


PEOPLE'S  DUODECIMO  EDITION.    ILLTJSTSATED. 

lieduced  in  price  frovi  $2.50  to  $1.50  a  volume, 

Tliis  edition  is  2^^'i^'ted  on  fine  pa2:)er,  from  large,  clear  type,  leaded,  that 
all  can  read,  containi)xg  One  Hundred  and  EigJili/  IlluHtrations  on  tinted 
paper,  and  each  book  is  complete  in  one  larye  duodecimo  volume. 


Our  Mutual  Friend, Cloth,  $1.50 

Pickwick  Papers, Cloth,  1.50 

Nicholas  Nickleby, Cloth,  1.50 

Great  Expectations, Cloth,.  1.50 

David  Copperfield, Cloth,  1.50 

Oliver  Twist, Cloth,  1.50 

Bleak  House, Cloth,  1.50 

A  Tale  of  Two  Cities,.. ..Cloth,  1.50 


Little  Dorrit, Cloth,  $1.50 

Douibey  and  Sun, Cloth,     1,50 

Chrit^tmas  Stories, Cloth, 

Sketches  by  "  Boz," Cloth, 

Barnaby  Budge, Cloth, 

Martin  Chuzzlewit, Cloth, 

Old  Curiosity  Shop, Cloth, 

Dickens'  New  Stories,.. ..Cloth, 


1.50 
1.50 
1.50 
1.50 
1.50 
1.50 
1.50 
1.50 
1.50 


American  Notes;  and  The  Uncommercial  Traveler, Cloth, 

Hunted  Down;  and  other  Beprinted   Pieces, Cloth, 

The  Holly-Tree  Inn;  and  other  Stories, Cloth, 

Price  of  a  set,  in  Black  cloth,  in  nineteen  volumes, $28.00 

•*         *•          Full  sheep.  Library  style, 38.00 

"         "          Half  calf,  sprinkled  edges, 47.00 

"         "          Half  calf,  marbled  edges, 53.00 

"         "          Half  calf,  antique, 57.00 

"        "         Half  calf,  full  gilt  backs,  etc., 67.00 

ILLUSTRATED  DUODECIMO  EDITION. 

Reduced  in  price  from  $2.00  to  $1.50  a  volume. 
T?{it  edition  is  ^jK?i<e(i  on  the  finest  paper,  from  large,  clear  type,  leaded. 
Long  Primer  in  size,  that  all  can  read,  the  lohole  containing  neaV  Six 
Hundred  full  page  Illustrations,  printed  on  tinted  pa2)er,  from  designs  by 
Cruihshanh,  Phiz,  Browne,  Maclise,  McLenan,  and  other  artists.  The  fol' 
louiing  books  are  each  contained  in  two  volumes. 


Our  Mutual  Friend, Cloth,  $3.00 

Pickwick  Papers Cloth,  3.00 

Tale  of  Two  Cities, Cloth,  3.00 

Nicholas  Nickleby, Cloth,  3.00 

David  Copperfield, Cloth,  3.00 

Oliver  Twist, Cloth,  3.00 

Christmas  Stories, Cloth,  3.00 


Bleak  House, Cloth,  $3.00 

Sketches  by  "  Boz," Cloth,  3.00 

Barnaby  Budge, Cloth,  3.00 

Martin  Chnzzlewit, Cloth,  3.00 

Old  Curiosity  Shop, Cloth,  3.00 

Little  Dorrit Cloth,  3.00 

Dombey  and  Son, Cloth,  3.00 


The  following  are  each   complete   in  one  volume,  and  are  reduced  in  pric* 
from  $2.50  to  $1.50  a  volume. 

Great  Expectations, Cloth,  $1.50  |  Dickens'  New  Stories,  ...Clo';h,  $1.50 

American  Notes;  and  The  Uncommercial  Traveler, Cloth,     1.50 

Hnntpil   Down;  and  other  Beprinted   Pieces, Cloth,     1.50 

The  Holly-Tree  Inn;  and  other  Stories, CJoth-     1.50 

Price  of  a  set,  in  thirty-three  volumes,  bound  in  cloth, »..  «49.00 

"         "  Full  shoep.  Library  style, '.     6'5-00 

"         "  Half  calf,  antique, 99.00 

"        "         Half  calf,  full  gilt  backs,  etc., 9^-00 

1^"  Books  sent,  postage   paid,  on  receipt  of  the  Eetail  Price,  by 
T.  B.  Peterson   &  Brothers,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 


6    T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS. 


CHARLES  DICKENS'   WORKS. 

ILLUSTEATED  OCTAVO  EDITION. 

Reduced  in  jirice  from  $2.50  to  $2.00  a  volume. 

This  edition  is  printed  from  large  type,  double  column,  octavo  par/e,  each 
book  being  complete  in  one  volume,  the  whole  containing  near  Six  Hundred 
Illustrations,  by  Cruikshank,  Phiz,  Browne,  Maclise,  and  other  artists. 


David  Copperfield, Cloth,  $2.00 

Barnaby  Rudge, Cloth,     2.00 

Martin  Chuzzlewit, Cloth,     2.00 

Old  Curiosity  Shop, Cloth,     2.00 

Christmas  Stories Cloth,     2.00 

Dickens'  New  Stories,... Cloth,  2.00 
A  Tale  of  Two  Cities,. ..Cloth,  2.00 
American  Notes  and  • 

Pic-Nic  Papers, Cloth,     2.00 


Our  Mutual  Friend, Cloth,  $2.00 

Pi.-kwick  Papers, Cloth,     2.00 

Nicholas  Nickleby, Cloth,     2.00 

Great  Expectations, Cloth,     2.00 

Linnplighter's  Storv,.. ..Cloth,      2.00 

Oliver  Twist, ". Cloth,     2.00 

Bleak  House, Cloth,     2.00 

Little  Dorrit, Cloth,     2.00 

Dorabey  and  Son, Cloth,      2.00 

Sketches  by  "  Boz," Cloth,     2.00  , 

Price  of  a  set,  in  Black  cloth,  in  eighteen  volumes, $.36.00 

"         "  Full  sheep,  Library  style, 45.00 

"         "  Half  calf,  sprinkled  edges, 55.00 

"  Half  calf,  marbled  edges, 02.00 

"         "  Half  calf,  antique, 70.00 

"         "  Half  calf,  full  gilt  backs,  etc., 70.00 

"NEW  NATIONAL  EDITION"  OF  DICKENS'  WORKS. 

This  is  the  cheapest  complete  edition  of  the  works  of  Charles  Dickens, 
"  Bt)Z,"  published  in  the  world,  being  contained  in  seven  large  octar<}  vol- 
umes, with  a  portrait  of  Charles  Dickens,  and  other  illustrations,  the  whole 
making  nearly  six  thousand  very  large  double  columned  pages,  in  large,  clear 
type,  and  handsomely  printed  on  fine  white  jjaper,  and  bound  in  the 
strongest  and  most  substantial  manner. 

Price  of  a  set,  in  Black  cloth,  in  seven  volumes, .$20.00 

<'  "         Full  sheep.  Library  style, 25.00 

"  "         Half  calf,  antique, .30.00 

"  "         Half  calf,  full  gilt  back,  etc., 30.00 

CHEAP   SALMON  PAPER  COVER  EDITION. 
Each  book  being  complete  in  one  large  octavo  volume. 

Christmas  Stories, 25 

The  Haunted  House, 25 

Uncommercial  Traveler, 25 

A  House  to  Let, 25 

Perils  of  English  Prisoners, 25 

Wreck  of  the  Golden  Mary, 25 

Tom  Tiddler's  Ground, 35 

Our  Mutual  Friend, 35 

Bleak  House, 35 

Little  Dorrit, 35 

.T(i.<eph   Grimaldi, 60 

The  Pic-Nic  Papers, 50 

No  Thoroughfare 10 

ITuntfHl  Down 25 

The  H.dlv-Troelnn 25 


Pif^kwick   Papers, 35 

Nicholas  Nickleby, 35 

Doiubey  and  Son, 35 

David  Copperfield, 25 

Martin  Chuzzlewit, 35 

Old  Curiosity  Shop, 25 

Oliver  Twist 25 

American  Notes, 25 

Great  Expectations, 25 

Hard  Times, 25 

A  Tile  of  Two  Cities, 25 

Somebody's  Luggage, 25 

Me-^sago  from  the  Sea, 25 

Barnaby  Riidge, 25 

Sketolies  bv"B<)Z," 25 


Mrs.  Lirriper's  Lodgings  and  Mrs.  Lirriper's  Legacy, 25 

Mugby  Junction  and  Dr.  Marigold's  Prescriptions, 25 


Books  sent,  postage  paid,  on  receipt  of  the  Retail   Price,  by 
T.  B.  Peterson  &  Brothers,  Pliiiadulpliia,  Pa. 


T.  B.  PETEKSON  &  BROTHERS'  PULICATIONS.    7 


CHARLES  LEVER'S  BEST  WORKS. 

Charles  O'Malley, 75 

Harry  Lorrequcr, 75 

Jack  Hinton, 75 

Tom  Burke  of  Ours, 75 


Knight  of  Gwynne, 75 

Arthur  O'Leury, 75 

Con  Cregan, 75 

Davenport  Dunn, 75 


Above  are  each  in  paper,  or  finer  edition  in  cloth,  price  $2.00  each. 
Horace  Templeton, 75  |  Kate  O'Donoghue, 75 


MADAME  GEORGE  SAND'S  WORKS. 


Consuelo, 75 

Countess  of  Rudolstadt, 75 

First  and  True  Love, 75 

The  Corsair, 50 

Jealousy,  paper, 1  50 

Do.  cloth, 1  75 


Fanchon,  tlie  Cricket,  paper,...  1 
Do.  do.        cloth,,..   1 

Indiana,  a  Love  Story,  paper,.  1 
Do.  do.        cloth,...  1 

Consuelo  and  Rudolstadt,  both 
in  one  volume,  cloth, 2 


00 
50 
50 

75 

00 


WILKIE  COLLINS'  BEST  WORKS. 

The  Crossed  Path,  or  Basil,....  1  50  |  The  Dead  Secret.     12mo 1  50 

The  above  are  each  in  paper  cover,  or  in  cloth,  price  $1.75  each. 

Hide  and  Seek, 75 

After  Dark, 75 

The  Dead  Secret.     8vo 75 


Above  in  cloth  at  $1.00  each. 
The  Queen's  Revenge, 75 


Ma*  Monkton, 50 

Sights  a-Foot, 50 

The  Stolen  Mask, 25 

The  Yellow  Mask, 25 

Sister  Rose, 25 


Rival  Beauties, , 75 

Romance  of  the  Harem, 75 


MISS  PARDOE'S  WORKS. 

Confessions  of  a  Pretty  Woman,       75 

The  Wife's  Trials, 75 

The  Jealous  Wife, 50 

The  five  above  books  are  also  bound  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $4.00. 

The  Adopted  Heir.     One  volume,  paper,  $1,50  ;  or  in  cloth, $1   75 

The  Earl's  Secret.     One  volume,  paper,  $1.50 ;  or  in  cloth,  1  75 


MRS.  HENRY  WOOD'S  BOOKS. 

Red  Court  Farm, ^ 1  50    Lord  Oakburn's  Daughters  ;  or. 


the  Earl's  Heirs, 1 

Squire     Trevlyn's    Heir ;     or. 


Trevlyn  Hold,. 
The    Castle's   Heir; 
Adelaide's  Oath,... 


Lady 


Elster's  Folly, 1  50 

St.  Martin's  Eve, 1  50 

Mildred  Arkell, 1  50 

Shadow  of  Ashlydyat, 1  50 

Oswald  Cray, 1  50 

Verner's  Pride, 1  60 

Above  are  each  in  paper  cover,  or  each  one  in  cloth,  for  $1.75  each. 
The  Mystery, 75  |  A  Life's  Secret, 

Above  are  each  in  paper  cover,  or  each  one  in  cloth,  for  $1.00  each. 
The  Channings, 1  00  I  Aurora  Floyd, * 

Above  are  each  in  paper  cover,  or  each  one  in  cloth,  for  $1.50  each. 


Orville  College, 50 

The  Runaway  Match, 50 

The   Lost  Will, 50 

The  Haunted  Tower 50 

The  Lost  Bank  Note, 75 


Better  for  Worse, 

Foggy  Night  at  Ofi"ord, 

The  Lawyer's  Secret, 

William  Allair, 

A  Light  and  a  Dark  Christmas, 


^"  Books  sont,  postage  paid,   on   receipt  of  the  Retail  Price, 
T.  B.  Petersou  &  Brothers,  Philadelphia,  Fa. 


50 
J50 

50 

50 
74 

75 
25 
25 
25 
25 


8    T.  S.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS. 


GEORGE  W.  M.  RE 


Mysteries  of  Court  of  London,..  1  00 

Rose  Foster.     Sequel  to  it, 1  50 

Caroline  of  Brunswick, 1  00 

Venctla  Trelawney, 1  00 

Lord  Saxondale, 1  00 

Cuunt  Christoval, 1  00 

Rosa  Lambert, 1  00 

The  above  are  each  in  paper  cover 

The  Opera  Dancer, 75 

Child  of  Waterloo, 75 

Robert  Bruce, 75 

Discarded  Queen, 75 

The  Gipsy  Chief, 75 

M:iry  Stuart,  Queen  of  Scots,...       75 
Wallace,  the  Hero  of  Scotlamd,  1  00 

Isabella  Vincent, 75 

Vivian  Bertram, 75 

Countess  of  Lascelles, 75 

Loves  of  the  Harem, 75 

Ellen  Percy, 75 

Agnes  Evelyn, 75 


YNOLDS'  WORKS. 

Mary  Price, 

Eustace  Quentin, 

Joseph  Wilmot, 

Banker's  Daughter, 

Kenneth, 

The  Rye-House  Plot, 

The  Necromancer, 

or  in  cloth,  price  $1.75  each. 

The  Soldier's  Wife, 

May  Middleton, 

Duke  of  Marchmont, 

Massacre  of  Glencoe, 

Queen  Joanna;  Court  Naples, 

Pickwick  Abroad, 

Parricide, 

The  Ruined  Gamester, 

Ciprina;  or,   the  Secrets  of  a 

Picture  Gallery, 

Life  in  Paris, 

Countess  and  the  Page, 

Edgar  Montrose, 


00 
00 
00 
00 
00 
00 
00 

75 
75 
75 
75 
75 
75 
75 
50 

50 
50 
50 
50 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS.    BY  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 

CHEAPEST  EDITION  IN   THE   WORLD. 


The  Betrothed, 20 

Peveril  of  the  Peak, 20 

Quentin  Durward, 20 

Red  Gauntlet, 20 

The  Talisman, 20 

Woodstock, ,....       20 

Highland  Widow,  etc., 20 

The  Fair  Maid  of  Perth, 

Anne  of  Geierstein, 

Count  Robert  of  Paris, 

The  Black  Dwarf  and  Legend 

of  Montrose, 

Castle    Dangerous,    and    Sur- 
geon's Daughter, 


20 

20 
20 

20 

20 


Ivanhoo, 20 

Rob  Roy, 20 

Guy  Mannering, 20 

The  Antiquary 20 

Old  Mortality  20 

Heart  of  Mid  Lothian, 20 

Bride  of  Lammermoor, 20 

Waverley, 20 

St.  Rouan's  Well, 20 

Kenilworth, 20 

The  Pirate, 20 

The  Monastery, 20 

The  Abbot, 20 

Tlie  Fortunes  of  Nigel, 20 

Above  edition  is  the  cheapest  in  the  world,  and  is  complete  in  twenty-six 
volumes,  price  Twenty  cents  each,  or  Five  Dollars  for  the  complete  set. 

A  flucr  edition  is  also  published  of  each  of  the  above,  complete  in  twcn 
ty-six  volumes,  price  Fifty  cents  each,  or  Ten  Dollars  for  the  complete  set. 

M  .rcdun.    ATaleofl210, 50  I  Scott's  Poetical  Works, 5  00 

Tales  of  a  Grandfather, 25  I  Life  of  Scott,  cloth, 2  50 

"NEW  NATIONAL  EDITION"  OF  "WAVERLEY  NOVELS."       . 

This  edition  of  the  Waverley  Novels  is  contained  in /ire  Inrge^ctavo  vol- 
umes, with  a  portrait  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  making  four  thousand  very  hirge 
double  columned  par) as,  in  good  type,  and  handsomely  printed  on  the  finest 
of  white  paper,  and  bound  in  the  strongest  and  most  substantial  manner. 

Price  of  a  set,  in  Black  cloth,  in  five  volumes, $15  00 

«  «  Full  sheep.  Library  style, 17  50 

"  "  Half  calf,  antitiuo,- or  ilalf  calf,  gilt, 25  00 

The  Complete  Prose  and  Poetical  Works  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  are  also 

published  in  ten  volumes,  bound  in  half  calf,  for $00.00 

■♦-♦^ 

t^  Books   sent,  postage  paid,  on  receipt  of   the  Retail  Price,  by 
T.  B.  Peterson   «Sc    Tro^hors,  Phil'idclp>.ia,  Pa. 


T.  B.  PETEESOl^  &  BROTHEHS'  PUBLIC ATIO]!TS.    9 


HUMOROUS  AMERICAN  WORKS. 

Beautifully  illustrated  bij  Felix  0.  G.  Darley. 


Major  Jones'  Courtship, 75 

Major  Jones*  Travels, 75 

Simon  Suggs'  Adventures  and 

Travels, 75 

Major    Jones'    Chronicles    of 

Pineville, 75 

Polly  Peablossom's  Wedding,..  75 

Mysteriesof  the  Backwoods,...  75 

Widow  Rugby's  Husband, 75 

Big  Bear  of  Arkansas 75 

Western   Scenes ;    or,  Life  on 

the  Prairie, 75 

Streaks  of  Squatter  Life, 75 

Pickings  from  the  Picayune,...  75 
Stray  Subjects,   Arrested    and 

Bound  Over, 75 

Louisiana  Swamp  Doctor, 75 

Charcoal  Sketches, 75 

Misfortunes  of  Peter  Faber,....  75 

Yankee  among  the  Mermaids,..  75 

New  Orleans  Sketch  Book, 75 


Drama  in  Pokerville, 

The  Quorndon  Hounds, 

My  Shooting  Box, 

Warwick  Woodlands, 

The  Deer  Stalkers, 

Peter  Ploddy, 

Adventures  of  Captain  Farrago, 

Major  O'Regan's  Adventures,.. 

Sol.  Smith's  Theatrical  Appren- 
ticeship,  

Sol.  Smith's  Theatrical  Jour- 
ney-Work, 

The  Quarter  Race  in  Kentucky, 

Aunt  Patty's  Scrap  Bag, 

Percival  Mayberry's  Adven- 
tures and  Travels, 

Sam  Slick's  Yankee  Yarns  and 
Yankee  Letters, 

Adventures  of  Fudge  Fumble,. 

American  Joe  Miller, 

Following  the  Drum, 


DISRAELI'S  WORKS. 

Henrietta  Temple, 50  I  Young  Duke, 

Vivian  Grey, 75    Miriam  Alroy, 

Venetia, 50  1  Contarina  Fleming, 

FRANK  FAIRLEGH'S  WORKS. 

Frank  Fairlegh, 75  I  Harry  Racket  Scapegrace,.... 

Lewis  Arundel, 75  I  Tom  Racquet, 

Finer  editions  of  above  are  also  issued  in  cloth,  at  $1.75  each. 
Harry  Coverdale's    Courtship,  1  50  |  Lorrimer  Littlegood, 

The  above  are  each  in  paper  cover,  or  in  cloth,  price  $1.75  each. 


75 
75 
75 
75 
75 
75 
75 
75 

75 

75 
75 
75 

75 

75 
75 
.00 
50 


50 

50 
50 


75 

75 

1  50 


C.  J.  PETERSON'S  WORKS, 

The  Old  stone  Mansion, 1  50  |  Kate  Aylesford, 1  50 

The  above  are  each  in  paper  cover,  or  in  cloth,  price  $1.75  each. 

Cruising  in  the  Last  War, 75  I  Grace  Dudley;  or,  Arnold  at 

Valley  farm, 25  1      Saratoga, 50 

JAMES  A.  MAITLAND'S  WORKS, 


Diary  of  an  Old  Doctor, 1  50 

Sartaroe, 1  50 

The  Three  Cousins 1  50 


The  Old  Patroon, 1  50 

The  Watchman, 1  50 

The  Wanderer, 1  50 

The  Lawyer's  Story, 1  50 

The  above  are  each  in  paper  cover,  or  in  cloth,  price  $1.75  each. 

WILLIAM  H.  MAXWELL'S  WORKS. 

Wild  Sports  of  the  West, 75  I  Brian  O'Lynn, 75 

Stories  of  Waterloo, 75  ' 


l^'  Books   sent,  postage  paid,  on  receipt  of  the  Retail  Price,  by 
T.  B.  Peterson  &  Brothers,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 


10  T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BUOTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS. 


WILLIAM  HARRISON  AINS WORTH'S  WORKS. 


Life  of  Jack  Saeppard, iO 

Life  of  Guy  Fawkes. 75 

Above  in  1  vol.,  ciotli,  $1.75. 

Court  of  the  Stuarts, 75 

Windsor  Castle, 75 

The  Star  Chamber, 75 

Old  St.  Paul's, 75 

Courtof  Quecu  Anne, 50 

Life  of  Dick  Turpin, 50 

Life  of  Davy  Crockett, 50 


Tov.er  of  Loudon, 1   50 

Miser's  Daugiiter, 1  00 

Above  iu  cloth  $1.75  each. 

Life  of  Grace  O'Malley, 50 

Life  of  Henry  Thomas, 25 

Desperadoes  of  the  NewWorld,  25 

Life  of  Ninon  De  L'Enclos,....  25 

Life  of  Arthur  Spring, 25 

Life  of  Mrs.  Whipple  and  Jes- 

see  Strang, 25 


G.  P.  R.  JAMES'S  BEST  BOOKS. 

Lord  Montague's  Page, 1   50  |  The  Cavalier, 1  50 

The  above  are  each  in  paper  cover,  or  in  cloth,  price  $1.75  each. 

The  Man  in  Black, 75  I  Arrah  Neil, 75 

Mary  of  Burgundy, 75  1  Eva  St.  Clair, 50 

DOW'S  PATENT  SERMONS. 


Dow's  Patent  Sermons,  1st 
Series,  $1.00;   cloth, 1  50 

Dow's  Patent  Sermons,  2d 
Series,  $1.00;  cloth 1  60 


Dow's  Patent  Sermons,  3d 
Series,  $1.00;   cloth, 1   50 

Dow's  Patent  Sermons,  4th 
Series,  $1.00;    cloth, 1  50 


SAMUEL  C.  WARREN'S  BEST  BOOKS. 

Ten  Thousand  a  Year,... paper,  1  50  i  Diary  of  a  Medical  Student,...       75 
Do.  do.  cloth,  2  00  | 

a.  K.  PHILANDER  DOESTICKS'  WORKS. 

Doesticks'  Letters, 1  50  i  The  Elephant  Club, 1  50 

Elu-Pti-Bus-Tah, 1  50  |  Witches  of  New  York, 1  50 

The  above  are  each  in  paper  cover,  or  in  cloth,  price  $1.75  each. 

GREEN'S  WORKS  ON  GAMBLING. 

Gambling  Exposed, 1  50  I  The  Reformed  Gambler, 1  50 

The  Gambler's  Life, 1  50  I  Secret  Band  of  Brothers 1  50 

Above  are  each  in  paper  cover,  or  each  one  in  cloth,  for  $1.75  each. 

MISS  ELLEN  PICKERING'S  WORKS. 


The  Grumbler, 75 

Marrying  for  Money, 75 

Poor  Cousin, 50 

Kato  Walsingham, 60 

Orphan  Niece, 60 


.^8 

38 

Ellen  Wareham, 38 

Nan  Darrel, 38 


Who  Shall  be  Heir?. 
The  Squire, 


CAPTAIN  MARRYATT'S  WORKS. 


Jacob  Faithful, 50 

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Picha  of  Many  Tales, 50 

Frank  Mildmay,  Naval  Officer,  50 

Saarleyow, 50 


Newton  Forster, 50 

King's  Own, 60 

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Peter  Simple, 50 

Percival  Keene, 60 

Poor  Jack, 60 

Sea  King, 60 


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Life  and  Adventures  of  Raoul  De  Surville, 25 

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cover,  or  in  cloth,  price  $1.75  each. 


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Young  Prima  Donna, 50 

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Ralph  Runnion, 50 

Seven  Brothers  of  AVyoming,..  50 

The  Rebel  Bride, 50 

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Wau-nan-gee, 50 


Old  Put;  or,  Days  of  1776, 50 

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The  Quaker  Soldier,  paper, 1  50 

do.  do.        cloth, 1  75 


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Far  South-West, 1  50 

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The  Heiress  of  Bellefonte,  and            I  Pioneer's    Daughter  and   the 
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The  Two  Brides, 50 

Love  in  a  Cottage, 50 

Love  in  High  Life, 50 

Year  after  Marriage, 50 

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Cecelia  Howard, 50 

Orphan  Children, 50 

Debtor's  Daughter, 50 

Mary  Moreton, 50 

Six  Nights  with  the  Washingtonians. 


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Pride  and  Prudence, 50 

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Lucy  Sandford 50 

The  Banker's  Wife, 50 

The  Two  Merchants, 50 

Trial  and  Triumph, 50 

The  Iron  Rule, 60 

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Life  of  Paul  Periwinkle, 75 

Life  of  Tom  Bowling, 75 

Percy  Effingham, 75 

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Red  King, 60 

The  Corsair, 50 

The  Doomed  Ship, 50 

The  Three  Pirates, 60 

The  Flying  Dutchman, 50 

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The  Gold  Seekers, 50 

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Life  of  Alexander  Tardy, 60 

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Jack  Junk, 60 

Davis,  the  Pirate, 50 

Valdez,  the  Pirate, 60 


Gallant  Tom, 50 

Harry  Helm, 50 

Harry  Tempest, 50 

Rebel  and  Rover, 50 

Man-of-War's-Mac, 50 

Dark  Shades  of  City  Life, 25 

The  Rats  of  the  Seine, 25 

Charles  Ransford, 25 

The  Iron  Cross, 25 

The  River  Pirates, 25 

The  Pirate's  Son, 25 

Jacob  Faithful, 50 

Phantom  Ship, 50 

Midshipman  Easy, 50 

Pacha  of  Many  Tales, 50 

Xaval  Officer, 60 

Suarleyow, 50 

Newton  Forster, 50 

King's  Own, 50 

Japhet, 50 

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Peter  Simple, 50 

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Poor  Jack, 50 

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Blanche  of  Brandy  wine, 1  50 

Washington  and  his  Generals; 
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Revolution, 1  50 

5[VIysteries  of  Florence, 1  00 

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The  Empire  City, 75 

Memoirs  of  a  Preacher, 75 

The  Nazarene, 75 

Washington  and  his  Men, 75 

Legends  of  Mexico, 50 

The  Entranced, 25 

The  Robbers, 25 

The  Bank  Director's  Son, 25 


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Harry  Lorrequer, 75 

Tom  Burkeof  Ours, 75 

Arthur  O'Leary, 75 

Con  Cregan, 75 

Kate   O'Donoghue, 75 

[Horace  Templeton, 75 

Davenport  Dunn, 75 

Jack  Adams'  Adventures, 75 

Valentine  Vox, 75 

Twin  Lieutenants, 75 

Stories  of  Waterloo, 75 

The  Soldier's  Wife, 75 

Guerilla  Chief, ,   75 


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Twenty  Years  After, 

Bragelonne,  Son  of  Athos, 

Forty-five  Guardsmen, 

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Life  of  Robert  Bruce, 

The  Gipsy  Chief, 

Massacre  of  Glencoe, 

Life  of  Guy  Fawkes, 

Child  of  Waterloo, 

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Life  of  Jack  Ariel, 

Wallace,  the  Hero  of  Scotland, 

Following  the  Drum, 

The  Conscript,  a  Tale  of  War. 
By  Alexander  Dumas, 


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The  Coward, 1   50  1       tory  of  the  late  War, 1 

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LIVES  OF  HIGHWAYMEN. 


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Life  of  Joseph  T.  Hare, 50 

Life  of  Col.  Monroe  Edwards,.  50 

Life  of  Jack  Sheppard, 50 

Life  of  Jack  Rann, 50 

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Life  of  Helen  Jewett, 60 

Desperadoes  of  the  New  World,  60 

Mysteries  of  New  Orleans, 60 

The  Robber's  Wife, 50 

Obi;  or.  Three  Fingered  Jack,  50 

Kit  Clayton, 50 

Life  of  Tom  Waters, 60 

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Bill  Hurton, 60 

Galloping  Gus, 50 

Life  &  Trial  of  Antoine  Probst,  50 

Ned  Hastings, 50 

Eveleen  Wilson, 50 

Diary  of^  Pawnbroker, 50 

Silver  and  Pewter, 50 

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Life  of  Grace  O'Malley, 50 


50 


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Life  of  Henry  Thomas, 25 

Life  of  Arthur  Spring, 25 

Life  of  Jack  Ketch 25 

Life  of  Ninon  De  L'EncIos, 25 

Lives  of  the  Felons,.  25 

Lifeof  Mrs.Whipple..  25 

Life  of  Biddy  Woodbuil, 25 

Life  of  Mother  Brownrigg,. 25 

Dick  Parker,  the  Pirate, 25 

Life  of  Mary  Bateman 25 

Life  of  Captain  Blood 25 

Capt.  Blood  and  the  Beagles,..  26 
Sixteen- Stringed  Jack's  Fight 

for  Life 25 

Highwayman's  Avenger, 25 

Life  of  Raoul  De  Surville 25 

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Life  of  Guy  Fawtes, 75 

Life  and  Adventures  ofVidocq,  1  50 


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Ellsworth's  Zouave  Drill, 25     U.  S.  Light  Infantry  Drill,. 

U.  S.  Government  Infantry  & 
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25 
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Red  Indians  of  Newfoundland,  75 

Salatbiel,  by  Croly, 75 

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Raoiil  de  Surville 25 

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Dr.  Hollick's   great  work   on   the  Anatomy   and   Physiology  of  tho 

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America's  Mission, 25  I  A  Thanksgiving  Sermon, 15 

Thankfulness  and  Character,..       25  |  Politics  in  Religion, 12 

Henry  Ward  Beecher  on  War  and  Emancijoation, 15 

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Dr.   Berg's    Answer   to    Arch- 
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Dr.  Berg  on  the  Jesuits, 13 


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N^"v  Card  of  Stamp  Duties,  approved  by  the  last  Acts  of  Congress,  15 

Political  Lyric?.      New  Hampshire  and  Nebraska.      Illustrated 12 

CHRISTY  &  WHITE'S   SONG  BOOKS., 

Christv  &  Wood's  Song  Book,.  10     Perenadcr's  Song  Book,.. .ll| 

M  lo^'eon  Snnfr  Book,! 10     Budworth's  Songs 

Plantation  IMclodies, 10     Christy  and  White's  CoiiM'b''' 

Ethiopian  Song  Book 10  '       Ethiopian  M(dndies.     Cloth,   1  00 

CURVED-POINT   STEEL   PENS. 

The  Slip  Pen,  -         ...         per  dozen  .25,  per  gross,  $2.50 

The  Barrel  Pen,        .         -         .         -         per       "        .50,         "  5.00 

Magnum  BoDum  Pen,        -         -         -         per      "        .75,         "  8.00 


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NEW    BOOKS    BY    MRS.   ANN  S.  STEPHEf^S. 


5Y  GRAY'S  STRATEGY 

BY  MRS.  ANN  S.  STEPHENS. 

Price  $1.75  in  Cloth;  or,  $1.50  in  Paper  Cover. 


<  •  > » » 


Fourth  JEdition  Koiv  Heady, 

THE  CURSE  OF  GOLi 

BY  MRS.  ANN  S.  STEPHENS. 

Price  $1.75  in  Cloth;  or,  $1.50  in  Paper  Cover. 


Fifth  Fdition  Noiv  Heady, 


ANN  S.  STEPHENS. 

Price  $1.75  in  Cloth;  or,  $1.50  in  Paper  Cover. 


T.  B.  Peterson  &  Brothers  have  just  issued  a  new  and  uniform  edition 
of  all  the  popular  works  written  by  Mrs.  Ann  S.  Stephens.  Their  names 
are  as  follows.     Price  of  each,  $1.75  in  cloth ;  or  $1.50  in  paper  cover. 

ANN  S.  STEPHENS'  COMPLETE  WORKS. 


Buhv  Gray's  Strategy, $1  75 

The  Curse  of  Gold, 1  75 

Mabel's  Mistake, 1  75 

Doubly  False, 1  75 

The  Soldier's  Orphans, 1  75 

Silent  Struggles, 1  75 

The  Wife's  Secret, 1  75 


The  Bejected  Wife, $1   75 

Mary  Derwcnt, 1  75 

The  Gold  Brick, 1  75 

Fashion  and  Famine, ]    75 

The  Old  Homestead, 1  75 

The  Heiress, 1  75 


Each  of  the  above  books  are  published  in  one  large  duodecimo  volume, 
bound  in  cloth,  at  $1.75  each,  or  in  paper  cover,  at  $1.50  each. 


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T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS, 

Na  308  CliestEut  Street,  Pliiladelphia,  Pa. 


N":W  BOOKS  BY  MRS.  E.  D.  I  N.  SOUTHWOP.TH. 


<  <  > »  » 


A  SEQUEL  TO  "THE  CHANGED  BRIDES.'' 

BY  MRS.  EMMA  D.  E,  N.  SOUTHWORTH. 


BY  MRS.  EMMA  D.  E.  N.  SOUTHWORTH. 


A  SEQUEL  TO  "FAIR  PLAY." 

BY  MRS.  EMMA  0.  E.  N.  SOUTHWORTH. 


BY  MRS.  EMMA  0.  E.  N.  SOUTHWORTH, 


MRS.  SOUTHWORTH'S   COMPLETE    WORKS. 


TheBrMe's  F,.te, S 

The  Chan'^ed  Brides, 

How  He  Won  Her, 

Fair  Play 

The  Prince  of  Darkness, 

Fallen  Pride, 

The  Widow's  Son, 

Bride  ot  Llewellyn, 

The  Fortune  Seeker, 

Alhvorth  Abbey, 

The  Bridal  Eve 

Tha  Fatal  ^rarriage, 

Love's  Labor  Won, 

Deserted  Wife, 


75 
75 
75 
7.'> 
75 
75 
75 
75 
75 
75 
75 
75 
75 
75 


The  Lost  Heiress $ 

The  Two  Sisters, 

'Ihe  Three  B<autie>< 

Vivia  :  or,  the  Sec  ret  ot  Power, 

Lady  ot  the  Isle 

The  Gipsy's  Prc)](liecy 

The  Missing  Bric'u 

Wife's  A'ietory, 

The  ]\Iolher-in  l.au 

Haunted  Homestead, 

Retribution, 

India:    Pearl  ot   Pearl  River... 

Curse  ot    Clifton 

Discarded  Daughter, 


75 
75 
1  5 
75 
75 
75 
75 
75 
75 
75 
75 
75 
75 
75 


E  leh  of  the  above  hooks  are  published  in  one  large  cluodecim»  volume, 
bound  in  cloth,  at  ?1.75  each,  or  in  paper  cover,  at  $L50  each. 

For  sale  by  all  Booksellers.     Copies  ot  any  of  the  above   hoo\s  will  b« 
gent  to  any  one,  free  ot  postasre,  on  receipt  of  •nrice  by  the  Publishers. 

T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHEHS 

No.  306  Chestnut  Street,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  N.C.  AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


00032193705 

This  book  must  not 
be  taken  from  the 
Library  building. 


Form  No.  471 


